


Who we are (without each other)

by geethr75



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Gen, Harry Needs a Hug, M/M, Post DH, Sane Voldemort, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 48,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24090190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geethr75/pseuds/geethr75
Summary: “Really?” Voldemort’s voice was quiet, but laced with amusement. “I’ve been inside your mind, privy to the most private of your thoughts, you are literally my soul, your blood thrums in my veins, and this is where you draw the line?”Harry swallowed. “I have to draw it somewhere,” he said, his voice cracking. “And I’m not your soul.”“You’re much more than just that, I admit,” Voldemort said, his tone no longer amused, “but you’re also that, Harry. Even you can’t deny that.”Harry gets thrown back in time, and decides to do things a bit differently this time
Relationships: Harry Potter/Voldemort, Sirius Black/Severus Snape
Comments: 701
Kudos: 3138
Collections: Ashes' Library, HP Soul Bonds, Harry_Potter_and_Voldemort_333333, Qualis Ficta





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TaeKookie_192](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaeKookie_192/gifts).



> Just had this idea a while back and finally got around to writing it. Hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. I will try and update once every week.
> 
> Title from Ruelle's The Other Side

**_Harry looked at his mother. “Stay close to me,” he said quietly._ **

**_Yaxley and Dolohov stepped out into a clearing that Harry knew had been the place where the monstrous Aragog had once lived. A fire burned in the middle of the clearing, and its flickering light fell over a crowd of completely silent, watchful Death Eaters._ **

**_Every eye was fixed upon Voldemort, who stood with his head bowed, and his white hands folded over the Elder Wand in front of him. Behind his head, still swirling and coiling, the great snake Nagini floated in her glittering, charmed cage, like a monstrous halo.  
When Dolohov and Yaxley rejoined the circle, Voldemort looked up. _ **

**_“No sign of him, my Lord,” said Dolohov._ **

**_Voldemort’s expression did not change. The red eyes seemed to burn in the firelight. Slowly he drew the Elder Wand between his long fingers._ **

**_“I thought he would come,” said Voldemort in his high, clear voice, his eyes on the leaping flames. “I expected him to come.”_ **

**_Nobody spoke. They seemed as scared as Harry, whose heart was now throwing itself against his ribs as though determined to escape the body he was about to cast aside. His hands were sweating as he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it beneath his robes, with his wand. He did not want to be tempted to fight._ **

**_“I was, it seems . . .mistaken,” said Voldemort._ **

**_“You weren’t.” Harry said it as loudly as he could, with all the force he could muster:_ **

**_He did not want to sound afraid. The Resurrection Stone slipped from between his numb fingers, and out of the corner of his eyes he saw his parents, Sirius, and Lupin vanish as he stepped forward into the firelight. At that moment he felt that nobody mattered but Voldemort. It was just the two of them. Voldemort had frozen where he stood, but his red eyes had found Harry, and he stared as Harry moved toward him, with nothing but the fire between them. The only things that moved were the flames and the snake, coiling and uncoiling in the glittering cage behind Voldemort’s head._ **

**_And still, Voldemort and Harry looked at each other, and now Voldemort tilted his head a little to the side, considering the boy standing before him, and a singularly mirthless smile curled the lipless mouth._ **

**_“Harry Potter,” he said very softly. “The Boy Who Lived.”_ **

**_Voldemort had raised his wand. His head was still tilted to one side, like a curious child, wondering what would happen if he proceeded. Harry looked back into the red eyes, and wanted it to happen now, quickly, while he could still stand, before he lost control, before he betrayed fear --- He saw the mouth move and a flash of green light, and everything was gone._**  


He opened his eyes, his breath heaving, and found that he was on a bed.

What the fuck!

He sprang to his feet, looking around. The room was a familiar one, but there was something wrong as well. He was in his dormitory in the Gryffindor tower, but all his senses screamed at him about the wrongness of it all. What the hell had happened? He was in the forest, ready to die, so what was he doing here now? 

A loud snore diverted his attention and he stared at the other beds, all of which were occupied. He walked towards the one nearest to him, desperate to see Ron one more time, and gently moved the curtains. Harry stood stock still, staring at the sleeping face of his best friend. It was Ron, but a much younger Ron, and he took a few steps back, allowing the hangings to fall, to hide Ron from view, the back of his legs hitting his own bed, and he toppled on to it, off balance.

What was happening? 

He jumped to his feet immediately and moved to where his books were scattered and stilled as he saw a familiar face on the covers of his books.

Lockheart.

He didn’t know how he remained standing. Had it all been a nightmare? The last few years? Was he still in the second year? But how could it all be just a dream? Something caught his eye among the books and he bent down to pick it up.

Riddle’s diary.

His heart was thumping now. How long had it been since he had it? Did he visit the memory Riddle and been fooled? Was Hermione petrified yet? His brain felt sluggish as it tried to remember what had happened during his second year. It was so long ago. 

_How am I here? I should be dead._

Was this the afterlife? Somehow he didn’t think so. Would the afterlife follow real life so closely? The past real life? He pinched himself and winced at the pain. Reality it was then, though it still didn’t explain what he was doing here. He should be dead. That was what-  


He swallowed. Dumbledore was alive now, and so was Snape. Dumbledore who had groomed him to be the perfect sacrificial lamb, and Snape. Harry sat down on his bed. It had happened too quickly, the shack, the pensieve, and everything that followed… he still wasn’t sure what he felt for his old potions master and his former headmaster.

_They are still my potion master and headmaster here._

Despair choked him. They had been so close! Once he was dead, it was only the snake and Voldemort, and here he was, back in his childhood, back to being twelve with not even Riddle’s diary destroyed. 

_Do I have the courage to go through all this again?_

He wished he could cast an obliviate on himself, remove all the memories of the past five years. 

Memories.

Both Snape and Dumbledore were accomplished Legilimens, and so was Voldemort. Did he really want to give them everything that was there in his head? He looked at the diary. Did he have the courage to go down to the Chamber again and kill the snake? It was only with Fawkes’ help that he could do it the last time. Fawkes and the sword of Gryffindor. 

And Riddle himself.

Riddle who had grown powerful enough to take form, who had taken enough of Ginny’s life force to be able to summon the basilisk.  
Ginny, who was going to steal back the diary, who was going to be possessed again if he allowed things to play out as they had done the first time. Ginny with her flowery scent and the blazing look on her face and her warm lips, her fragrant hair...

Harry looked at the diary and made a decision.


	2. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos. Keep the love coming!! There's a time jump here, but Harry's still in school.

It was a familiar dream, but knowing that wasn’t helping. Harry was in the graveyard and a high cold voice was saying the killing curse, and Cedric fell to the ground, dead. 

Harry woke up, a scream dying in his throat, looking about him anxiously. He was in the tent. The Weasley’s tent. The Quidditch World Cup. He fell back on to his bed. Everyone was asleep, thankfully. Had he cried out loud? Had he screamed? Probably not. If he had, someone would have noticed. But why had he dreamed of the graveyard? He hadn’t since he had come back to this life. His dreams had been about Dumbledore falling, the snake attacking Snape, of Fred, of Sirius falling through the veil, of Dobby, Lupin, Colin. 

Of course. He had seen Cedric the previous day, relived that meeting. Harry had a sudden urge to check his backpack to see if Riddle’s diary was still there, but he controlled the impulse. He had chosen not to destroy it, but to stuff it into his trunk, out of sight, though never out of mind. 

Was that going to have any implications on the future?

He didn’t know. He had the bloody diary, and he had the bloody ring which he had retrieved from Little Hangleton during the summer break after his second year, He had got Wormtail arrested, and Sirius’ name cleared and he now had the locket as well, since he was living with Sirius instead of the Dursleys now. Dumbledore had tried to interfere to prevent Sirius from having custody, but Harry had been as vociferous as Sirius and the Minister of Magic had to go by wizarding law rather than whims of headmasters. They didn’t live in Grimmauld Place. Sirius had another house, but he had taken Harry to the old derelict place. It had taken some manipulation, and Harry was beginning to see why the hat said he would do well in Slytherin. He also had got the diadem from the Room of Requirement. 

The cup, however, was another matter altogether. 

Harry knew that the goblins who ran Gringotts gave a rat’s ass about wizarding laws which meant that the Lestranges’ vault was off limits to everyone else, no matter how many Azkaban sentences they had served or how many Death Eater activities they had been convicted of. Under the circumstances, to try and access the vault was impossible. The crazy plan they had formed and executed with Griphook was out of the question since Griphook was no longer an ally, and besides, he had no way of brewing a polyjuice potion, and even if he did, there was no way of getting a body part of Bellatrix or her husband to make the potion effective. 

Talking of Death Eaters… 

Harry cast a tempus. The commotion should start any moment. But this time, he had prevented his wand from being stolen. He had considered exposing Crouch Jr, but hadn’t. It wasn’t the right time. It had to look natural. He was waiting for the ruckus to start, for Winky to start running through the crowds, dragging Barty Crouch Jr. hidden under an invisibility cloak, and with him fighting all the way. It would be a simple matter to run straight into him, and to pull the cloak off him, exposing not only him, but his father’s complicity in his escape.

Harry couldn’t deny that it would be extremely satisfying to destroy the man who had ordered Sirius to be thrown into Azkaban without a trial. 

There was still the question of Voldemort. In his last life, he had been in England at the time of the World Cup, and Wormtail had been with him. But this time, Wormtail was in Azkaban, Bertha Jorkins was not missing or dead, and Frank Bryce was still alive. Which meant that Voldemort was still in Albania, still weak, little less than a wraith. 

_How do you kill something like that?_

If he was to kill Voldemort, he had to ensure that the man was resurrected. Harry was not immortal, unwitting horcrux as he was, and neither was Nagini. Even if he managed to get the cup, and even if he managed to destroy all the horcruxes, it would not end Voldemort. Even if he and Nagini were to die of old age, Voldemort would still be out there, formless, true, but still able to possess people, to bend them to his will. Harry had no illusions that everything he had done so far had done nothing but delay the inevitable. Even if it took a year or two or a couple of hundred, Voldemort would rise sooner or later, and Harry might not even be around to fight him then, No, he had to find a way to bring Voldemort to England, to successfully resurrect him, but on his own terms.

That was something that required careful thought. Voldemort needed three ingredients. His father’s bones, a servant’s flesh and an enemy’s blood. It meant that when he did return, he would go to Little Hangleton. But how to get him there?

Harry considered and discarded possibilities as he waited for the commotion to begin. The Malfoys? McNair? Any of the now free Death Eaters? Which of them would risk their hard won safety to bring back an insane master? They might talk of his return, might lament the loss of their past glory, but Harry was no fool. None of them were loyal to Voldemort. If he returned, they would profess loyalty, would change sides, but they would not do anything actively to bring him back.

Bellatrix might, but she was even more insane than Voldemort. The last time, it had been a combination of circumstances, not to speak of Wormtail’s desperation and Crouch Jr’s loyalty.

Crouch Jr.

He was the perfect candidate. In this time, Lupin was still teaching at Hogwarts, no one knew he was a werewolf since Harry had unmasked Wormtail on the day Hermione had got Crookshanks, and as such, the third year had been singularly unexciting with no Dementors around. Just like his second year had been unexciting with no Basilisk and the mandrake juice reviving everyone, and if Harry manipulated Lockheart into revealing the truth about himsef, he felt no guilt about it. Perhaps Lockheart in Azkaban was worse than the fate he had suffered in Harry’s first life, but it was not as if he was innocent. All it meant was that Harry actually could get some education. He could still cast a patronus, could still do everything seventeen year old him could do, and lots more now, because now he lived with Sirius who had no problems with training him in spells too advanced for his age. But it also meant that in this time, there would be no disguised death eaters puttering about in Hogwarts as DADA professors. It meant that he would not be a triwizard champion this time, would not have to face danger and derision and probing into his life. 

All of which brought him no closer to the solution to the dilemma that faced him. How to resurrect Voldemort and then kill him. It would have to be done immediately, of course. But how to do it? Who would do it? Even if he somehow managed to free Crouch Jr, how would the man make it to Albania and back? He didn’t even have a wand. Besides, Harry had to figure out a way to destroy the horcruxes before that. In this life, Nagini was not a horcrux.

Not yet.

He ignored that thought. But he couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room. He still was a horcrux, and there was no way of killing Voldemort as long as he lived.

Harry wanted to live. 

And that was the wall he ran up against every time. Even if somehow he did what he had been ready to do in the forest, even if he allowed Voldemort to kill him, what if it did nothing? What if it just threw him back again? An endless loop of time in which Harry couldn’t even manage to die properly.

The Boy Who Lived had become the The Boy who couldn’t fucking die.


	3. Two

“Why so silent?” Sirius asked as they reached home. “You’ve been unusually quiet.”

What could he say? Harry knew he had been quieter since he had come back, that he had to try hard to behave like the child everyone saw him as, to be interested in Quidditch and petty rivalries with Malfoy and the Slytherins, to be actually worried about exams and grades when he knew what lay at the end of it.

Merlin, he had lived through all of this already, and no matter what he looked like, he was no fourteen year old. 

_Am I still seventeen? Or nineteen?_

Harry looked into the concerned eyes of his godfather, and it was incredible, and his heart swelled like a balloon every time he saw Sirius, the miracle that he was alive and _here_ , and free, was something he still he could not wrap his head around. 

“I’m just tired,” he said, forcing a smile. 

Sirius’ eyes remained full of concern. “You know you can tell me anything,” Sirius said softly.

Harry nearly broke. Merlin, what comfort it would be if he could tell him! But Harry had been fighting this battle since he was one and he knew that this wasn’t a burden he could share or relinquish, no matter what happened. 

“It was… I don’t know, with Crouch and all…” Harry rubbed his hand across his forehead and Sirius’ eyes softened so impossibly that Harry wanted to cry.

“Come here,” Sirius said, and Harry was clasped in his arms, Sirius’ breath on top of his head and Harry could feel his heart, and his warmth and every single day, it was a miracle. 

“Go and rest,” Sirius said softly, as they broke the hug. 

“Do you…” Harry cleared his throat. “Do you think Crouch’s son is innocent?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sirius said quietly. “He had a trial, he was sentenced, and Crouch broke the law when he broke him out. Not to speak of the laws he broke in using an unforgiveable on the boy.”

There was something in Sirius’ tone, a contentment, almost cruel in its serenity and Harry swallowed. It was something that was part of Sirius, a streak of malice, of meanness that neither losing his best friend nor Azkaban had burned out of him. A hint of the madness that he claimed had infested the Black bloodline. 

Harry yawned. Circe, he was tired, tired of his life, the need to keep secrets, the need to keep on lying. He was still shit at Occlumency, but he had taken care to look neither Dumbledore nor Snape in the eye. In fact, he had been careful not to offend Snape, though it was hard. Snape might have sacrificed everything to keep him safe, but the man was still offended by his very existence. But knowing Snape’s feelings towards his mother—something that still made him highly uncomfortable to think about—had at least clarified why Snape had been so determined to hand over Sirius to the Dementors in their last life. It had been more than his anger towards Sirius. He had believed Sirius had betrayed Lily. 

He yawned again, and Sirius said. “You should go to bed.”

Harry nodded. “Good night, Sirius.”

Sirius still had a troubled look on his face as he looked at him. Harry wondered if Sirius knew of the silencing charms and privacy wards he cast on his bedroom every night, of how long he lay awake every night, afraid to fall asleep, scared of the nightmares that even after two years, still retained their vividity and intensity.

His old life and his new life were different, and yet the fear remained, as did the spectre that was always at the back of his mind, the soul piece hidden inside him, like a pebble lodged in his shoe; never away from his thoughts, as real as the blazing fury that he had felt every time he had seen Dumbledore since than and the bittersweet joy of seeing him still alive. It did not matter what Dumbledore did, of how he had manipulated Harry to walk to his death, of how he had chosen the greater good over Harry, because when it came down to it, Harry couldn’t stop himself from caring, and wasn’t that his great power, the power Voldemort didn’t have, couldn’t understand, that Harry could love even someone who had horribly betrayed him? He was not ready to be Dumbledore’s good little soldier any more, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t fight to keep the man alive. 

Sirius’ hand was on his head. “I’m sorry,” he sad softly.

Harry swallowed. “Why?” he asked.

“You’re fourteen,” Sirius said quietly, “And yet, most of the time it is a world weary adult who looks at me from your eyes, and… I don’t know what brought this on, I don’t know what you went through before I came into your life, but I feel like I’ve failed you in some ways.”

Hysterical laughter bubbled inside Harry, but he kept it down, swallowed it, because the things he went through before Sirius came to his life were nothing compared to what came after, and he wished desperately that he could tell Sirius, but this was Harry’s past, his life and he was here to do things better, and he would.

_If it doesn’t drive me insane first._

“Will Remus still be teaching this year?” he asked, to change the subject and to stop himself from breaking down. 

“I don’t know,” Sirius said quietly. “There had been some rumours, but so far Dumbledore hasn’t said anything.”

When had he ever?

“What rumours?” he asked.

“Something about the ministry and board of governors not being happy with Remus still teaching there,” Sirius sounded unhappy. “But Dumbledore hasn’t said anything, so maybe it is only rumours.”

The bitterness and the anger were back with a vengeance and Harry swallowed them down. Anger at Dumbledore more than anyone else, but he controlled the hot words trembling at the tip of his tongue. In spite of how he looked, he was not fourteen, and he was not going to lose his temper as had been so easy to do. He had to control himself, his outbursts, his fury, and his emotions as best as he could. 

There had been few constants in Harry’s previous life. His friendship with Ron and Hermione, his hatred towards Voldemort and his trust in Dumbledore had been the cornerstones of his life, and now, without that trust, he was spiralling into something and had been for two years and no matter how hard he fought it, it was threatening to overcome him.

_And yet, you would be Dumbledore’s good little soldier and kill Voldemort._

Harry hated the sneering tone that sounded far too much like Snape for his comfort. The man too had been betrayed by Dumbledore, and yet, he had remained loyal. 

If he had a second chance, would he still remain so?

Harry wished once again that he didn’t have to come back in time. That he didn’t have to make the choices that he did. By choosing to protect Ginny, by not destroying the diary, he had also failed to exonerate Hagrid’s name. Which meant that Hagrid was still the gamekeeper and not a teacher. If he looked at it free from his prejudices, he knew that Hagrid had not been a good teacher at all, that he had consistently endangered his students though he had never meant to. He just wished he didn’t have to feel so guilty about his thoughts.

_I need time, is all. I have to do what’s best for everyone without getting anyone killed._

For the Greater Good.

But Harry was not Dumbledore, and he would risk no lives. If there was a chance that Hagrid would have been arrested and wouldn’t have been released from Azkaban, he would have let events play out as they would have in his previous life, but that did not happen. Hagrid was not arrested, and was free and even if no one else knew it, Dumbledore knew his innocence, and so did Harry. 

That would have to be enough for now.


	4. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter this week. Enjoy!! Keep the love flowing, and stay safe, everyone.

Harry hadn’t yet figured out what to do by the time September 1st came around and he was already on the train to Hogwarts. It was the first time since he had come to Hogwarts that he had been so completely alone. Always before, whenever he was grappling with something, there had been Ron and Hermione, Sirius, Dumbledore. 

Rage possessed him, hot and virulent, but alongside it was despair. He couldn’t afford to be angry, he couldn’t afford to let anyone know he was from the future. Dumbledore might not kill him if he found out, but Harry no longer trusted Dumbledore. After all, as long as Voldemort was without a corporeal form, Harry was safe, but what if Dumbledore’s eagerness to destroy Voldemort led him to resurrect the dark wizard? Perhaps he was being paranoid, but he could not bring himself to trust again. 

Logically speaking, Harry knew that Dumbledore had demanded nothing of Harry that he hadn’t demanded from himself first. Hadn’t he sacrificed himself to help Draco, to keep Snape’s cover from being blown, to save Harry? He had sacrificed himself, had been ready to sacrifice himself, and he had walked to his death just as Harry had, except his had lasted a year. After that, why would he feel any compunction in demanding the same from Harry?

Except Harry was seventeen and Dumbledore was not. 

Harry tried to feel involved in everything that was happening around him, but even when he heard Malfoy’s drawling voice speaking about how his father wanted him to go to Durmstrang, all he could feel was a great swell of pity for the Malfoy he remembered from his last life. He remembered asking about Durmstrang last time, but this time he already knew enough. Since he lived with Sirius and not the Dursleys, neither Ron nor Hermione were surprised that he had heard of the school. He tried to be interested in the conversation, but Merlin, it was so hard to do this! He already knew what they were going to say. He had lived it, for Circe’s sake! All he could feel was a vague sorrow for his own and his friends’ innocence at this age. They had been so young, so naive, and their biggest concerns were Malfoy and Quidditch. It seemed laughable now.

He tried not to stare at Neville too much. He had never paid all that much attention to Neville in his previous life till the DA, but he had been doing it since he had come back. Even after all this time, it had been so hard not to stare at each of his friends, to remember them as they had been when he had seen them last in his previous life. To swallow the lump in his throat every time Remus stood in front of them in a class, or even try not to stare at Snape, wishing things had gone differently, that he hadn’t judged the man too harshly.

As the Quidditch talk progressed, Hermione buried her face in a book, and Harry wished he could also do something like that. It was so hard to be enthusiastic about Quidditch after everything he had been through. Harry hoped that no one would notice that he was not as enthusiastic as everyone else. He had managed to fool everyone for the last two years, why was it suddenly so difficult? 

This was the year when it all started.

It was there in the back of his mind, like an itch under the skin. Even though he tried to reassure himself that things were different this time, that he had changed things, that Voldemort wasn’t probably even in Britain, that both Wormtail and Crouch Jr were in Azkaban, the fear inside him was a living thing.

_I’ll be glad when this year is over._

At least, he would have an uninteresting year. There was no fake Moody to put his name into the Goblet of Fire, no Triwizard cup-portkey waiting innocently to whisk him into a graveyard in Little Hangleton.

Malfoy’s sneering voice broke into his thoughts, jeering at Ron, and Harry couldn’t even dredge up enough energy to pay attention to his and Ron’s verbal battle or to try and pacify Ron’s bad mood. This Ron still was far more preferable to the Ron who had walked out on him, or the Ron who had refused to believe him about the Goblet of Fire. In spite of everything, Harry’s heart still ached when he thought of that. 

Ron had come back.

But he had walked away too.

It still felt like a betrayal, what Ron had done, and if not for the greater betrayal by Dumbledore at the end of it all, Harry would have been angrier at his best friend. Ron might have walked away, but he had always come back, had saved Harry’s life, had been ready to follow Harry into fire from the first year, and had never asked for anything in return. So, he got jealous, and angry, so he was human, but Harry was hardly perfect. What right had he to judge Ron for his failings? After all, Harry had to remind himself that Ron had been a child too, who unlike Harry had never had to grow up faster than he needed to, not till he had to face Tom Riddle in a locket anyway.

The four horcruxes were in a mokeskin pouch that Harry had got for himself after his second year. Fred and George had gifted him with the Marauder’s Map after they had come to learn from Sirius that his dad was one of the ones who had created it. Harry was also carrying his invisibility cloak with him everywhere now, just as he had done since his sixth year in his previous life. 

It was Dumbledore who had suggested it. 

Harry rubbed his scar absently. It was burning, and he had no idea why. The pain was not very intense, but it was there, thrumming under his skin. 

_How can it hurt if Voldemort’s still in Albania and is in wraith form?_

It hadn’t hurt once in the last two years. Harry felt cold seeping into his insides, a cold that had nothing to do with the weather outside.

He recognised fear.


	5. Four

The dinner was just as Harry remembered from his previous life. He avoided looking at the staff table where Remus should have been but wasn’t, where Snape was, where Dumbledore was. There was a stranger sitting there, tall and broad, a big man with a thatch of straw coloured hair and wide blue eyes that surveyed everyone with curiosity. So, the rumours had been right after all, and Dumbledore hadn’t even bothered to tell Sirius. He probably swore Remus to silence as well. Harry tamped his anger down. 

He tried not to look at Fred and George sitting so near, tried to ignore Colin Creevy’s excitement at having his brother in Gryffindor, tried not to see George without his ear or Fred lying dead, to forget Colin’s body laid out among adult wizards’. He tried not to look at the Great Hall itself, so he wouldn’t see the place as it had looked after the battle as he had snuck out to meet Voldemort. 

This should have been easy by now, but it was not. No matter how hard he tried, every time he saw these people, the memories resurfaced, fresh as if it had happened only yesterday. He saw them as he had seen them last in his previous life, just as he saw the faces of their former selves stamped on Ron and Hermione’s faces every time he looked at them. Harry had become good at compartmentalization, but being here this year, with his scar burning was wreaking havoc with his hard won mental balance. 

At least Hermione isn’t freaking out about house elves. 

After everything that had happened, Crouch couldn’t fire Winky, so Hermione was not affected by her plight as she had been in his previous life. 

What would have happened to Winky? Harry chewed his steak slowly as he realised he hadn’t actually thought things through. Would Winky turn out to be like Kreacher, alone in the house of her masters and going out of her mind with loneliness? His insides squirmed in guilt as he contemplated the gentle elf in such a state. 

Perhaps Hermione’s obsession had not been such a bad thing after all.

He could ask Dobby to check in on Winky. Harry absently filled his plate with treacle tart. Dobby was in Hogwarts after all. 

Dobby.

The pain that shot through him at the thought of the Elf was almost physical. He bent his head so no one would notice the tears in his eyes. He was already skating on thin ice as it was. If anyone noticed how quiet he was being… Harry had never been garrulous, but he had never been this quiet either. He couldn’t even blame it on the Dursleys any longer. He could claim he was missing Sirius, but it was not as if he and Sirius had just found each other. He had been living with his godfather for almost two years now. 

“Are you all right, Harry?” 

Trust Hermione to notice.

“I’m okay,” he said softly. “I think I ate too much. A bit of a stomach ache.” He grimaced. “I will be fine. Too much treacle tart.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “Perhaps you should go to the hospital wing.”

He suppressed an eyeroll. “Hermione, I’m fine.”

Though she was frowning, she let it go, mainly because Dumbledore rose and silence fell across the Great Hall, the plates vanished. He was full, but tonight he was not feeling drowsy as he had been that first time. It was turmoil that flowed through his veins and not the quiet contentment he was used to in his previous life while at Hogwarts. 

Hogwarts no longer felt like home. 

Harry swallowed, as he looked away, half expecting Moody to walk in as he had that first time, interrupting Dumbledore’s speech. But no one walked in, and Dumbledore made the introduction of the new DADA teacher—Dorian Fremont—that Harry did his best to tune out. Then came the announcement about the Triwizard Tournament and Harry winced at Fred’s loud, “You’re joking!”

What was going to happen to Fred and George and their joke shop now that Harry was no longer going to be able to give them his Triwizard winnings? He supposed they would have to find another way. It was hard to think of joke shops with the realisation that his scar burning so continuously could mean only one thing, that Voldemort again had a body, however small and useless. That someone had managed to do what Wormtail had done. 

Who? And where was he? Still in Albania? Or had he made his way back to Britain, into Little Hangleton? Harry ignored the goosebumps that had risen all over his skin as he made his way to Gryffindor towers, stopping Neville from stepping on the trick stair almost absently as he listened to Fred and George make plans to fool the impartial judge with half an ear. 

_Dumbledore just could have said it is a magical object and not a person._

But if Dumbledore had been open and honest, perhaps none of this would have happened. Harry knew that he was blaming his headmaster a little too much. It was not as if Dumbledore brought about the prophecy or even caused Voldemort to kill his parents or hunt him. His life would still have been a mess even if Dumbledore had never existed. It all came down to Voldemort ultimately. And even after everything that happened, Harry had to admit that from an objective point of view, Dumbledore’s choice to sacrifice him in order to get rid of Voldemort couldn’t be faulted. 

_After all, it is for the Greater Good._

But where did one draw the line? Harry had been certain, so certain that Dumbledore cared for him, that he had wanted Harry to survive, to have a life free of Voldemort, but it had turned out that Harry had been expendable after all. And that was what horrified him. If Dumbledore could sacrifice him so callously after claiming to care, to love him, what wouldn’t he do to someone he didn’t care for all that much?

He changed into his pajamas almost automatically and climbed into bed.

"I might go in for it, you know," Ron said sleepily through the darkness, "if Fred and George find out how to...the tournament...you never know, do you?"

"S'pose not..."

Harry rolled over in his bed, his mind still grappling with the unknown that had opened up before him. Was there anything he could do to find Voldemort? To stop him? 

_What if I don’t have to kill him?_

Harry’s breath caught. That was something he had never considered before. Why couldn’t he just live out his life, and not bother about Voldemort at all? As long as Voldemort was not resurrected, Harry was safe and free. Of course, Harry did not expect that he could hold off Voldemort’s resurrection forever, but he only had to delay it long enough for him to have an education, a life, to learn enough about all this shit and learn a way to get rid of the fucking piece of Voldemort’s soul inside him without his having to die for it. 

_But I have to get rid of the horcruxes first._

Did he have to, though? Hermione had said the only way to put a soul together was through remorse, though she hadn’t said anything about how it was created, except that it was evil. It was likely that the creation of a horcrux involved some kind of ritual. Otherwise every murderer out there would become immortal, wouldn’t they? If a ritual could create them, wasn’t it possible for there to be one to restore the soul piece inside them back to their owner as well? Harry’s heart thumped in his chest. If he could find such a ritual, if it existed, he only needed to use it and Voldemort would again have a whole soul with no tethers to bind him to life the next time he was caught by a rebounding killing curse.

A rebounding killing curse.

Harry’s excitement died down. He didn’t think he could kill even Voldemort. No matter how much he hated the man, he was no killer. All he wanted was to keep everyone safe from Voldemort. 

That was why he had walked to his death, after all. 

He yawned. He should sleep. He didn’t want to oversleep or be late for classes. At least, this year would be as unexciting for him personally as the previous one had been.


	6. Five

The first few weeks went by much as Harry had remembered, with the exception of Dorian’s classes. The man insisted they all call him Dorian. The new objective part of Harry recognised that Dorian was as good as Remus, but he was determined to resent the man. Besides, he didn't want to accidentally reveal how much he actually knew, so he was forced to dumb it down and pretend to be excited about what he was learning. He avoided any personal interaction with Dorian in spite of the man trying to be friendly.

His scar was burning almost constantly and that only added to his worries, though he pushed it to the back of his mind.

“I miss Quidditch,” Ron muttered one evening, his eyes on Fred and George who were huddled together in a corner. 

No one else spoke and Harry checked his DADA homework to make certain it was only up to 4th year standards. Hermione could write as advanced as she liked; she was a genius and everyone knew that, but he was Harry Potter, troublemaker extraordinaire and the Boy Who Lived, and no one expected him to suddenly become more competent than his teachers. At least, he mused, he was better than Dorian, though he always allowed the man to best him in dueling practice. 

His scar gave a painful twinge that he recognised too well as a prelude to a vision involving Voldemort, and he rolled up his parchment and got up, stifling a fake yawn.

“I’m done. I think I’ll head to bed.”

“Help me then,” Ron said.

“I need to go to the toilet,” Harry said. “Be back,”

He ran all the way up the stairs and into the bathroom. There was little privacy, but he locked the door and set the privacy wards and leaned against the sink, his hands braced on both sides. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against the pain.

He saw a familiar room. It was the Riddle House, the room he had dreamt Voldemort in his last life. This time too he was there, swaddled in clothes like some grotesque imitation of a baby, and the snake was there, lying on the hearth, curled up. There was a man kneeling in front of Voldemort, a frame that was very familiar to Harry.

“I’m firmly entrenched in Hogwarts, my lord,” Dorian said. “The plan shall proceed as you wish. Harry Potter shall be yours.”

“You have done well,” Voldemort said, and Harry could distinguish that the pain in his scar was due to joy rather than anger. 

The vision dissolved and Harry discovered that he was covered in sweat. Dorian was not a death eater. Not one Harry was familiar with anyway. So, some poor sod like Quirrell whom Voldemort had enticed with false promises of reward and power. 

Harry wanted to scream in frustration. He had thought he was safe, that this time he wouldn’t have to deal with the triwizard cup and all that it entailed. What a fool he was! He should have known that some things would happen no matter how hard he tried. He made his way back to the common room on autopilot. He had to find a solution to this. Should he tell Dumbledore? But Harry still didn’t trust the Headmaster. He had kept telling him about Malfoy and Dumbledore had done nothing. Besides if he told Dumbledore about his vision, he would be following the same path he had in his previous life, but if he refused to follow the script, Dumbledore was going to get suspicious.

He could deal with Dorian, but Harry knew himself. He was no killer, and while he had no doubt that he would be able to defeat Dorian, what was he to do with him afterwards?

He was still grappling with the problem when he went to bed. If he exposed Dorian, what then? Harry remembered Dumbledore telling him about the death of the muggle Frank Bryce and even then Dumbledore hadn’t thought to investigate the Riddle House.

One way or another Voldemort was going to come back. He would use someone else, if he couldn’t get Harry. If it came to a choice between resurrection without Harry’s blood or no resurrection, Voldemort wasn’t likely to choose the latter option.

What if he helped Voldemort to come back and forced the wizard to help him?

_Help me do what?_

Voldemort wasn’t going to help him destroy the horcruxes. Heck, if he learned Harry was a horcrux, he was probably going to capture him and keep him prisoner. But going to Dumbledore was no longer an option. 

_What if I can convince Voldemort to take an unbreakable oath?_

But why should Voldemort agree to anything?

The answer came to him in a stroke of inspiration. The diary, and the other horcruxes he had. If he could find a way to destroy him, find someone he could trust, who wouldn’t run to Dumbledore, and who would destroy the horcruxes if Harry were not back… In his previous life, there was Kreacher, but…

Dobby.

Dobby was free, which meant that he was not bound to obey or confide in Dumbledore. It had been Harry who had freed him, just like in his last life. That had taken some doing, but it helped that Dumbledore had never been sacked and Hagrid arrested. That the attacks had simply stopped and the furore had died down on its own. Harry had been certain Lucius Malfoy would attempt something, and he hadn’t been disappointed when the man had walked into the school, probably irate that his well laid plan hadn’t worked out as he had expected. Dobby had been with him, and it had been a simple matter of bumping into the man, making him drop the gloves he was carrying on to Dobby’s hands. Not as good as a sock, perhaps, or as dramatic as it had been the last time, but it had been enough. Dobby was free, and he was working in Hogwarts; in fact it was Harry who had suggested it. The pain was fresh every time he saw the elf, but he had learned how to push past it. 

Dobby would certainly keep Harry’s secret but even if he enlisted Dobby’s help, how was he to destroy the Horcruxes? He had no fiendfyre, he had never pulled the sword of Gryffindor from the sorting hat or killed a basilisk with it.

The basilisk. It was still there, underneath the school, in the chamber of secrets. Harry didn’t want to kill it. He only wanted its venom. Last time, it was because of Riddle that he had been forced to kill it. This time, he would take Dobby with him so the elf can apparate them both out if the basilisk was not going to listen to him. Any parselmouth ought to be able to control it, and if Harry could get some venom, he had a certain way of destroying the horcruxes. 

He examined the plan from all angles. It would work. He would blackmail Voldemort with his horcruxes into taking an unbreakable oath not to hurt anyone. Once that was done, Harry would finally be free. And once he was resurrected, Voldemort would have no further reason to have Harry take part in the Triwizard cup, so Harry wouldn’t have to go through all those dangers either.

Mind made up, Harry fell into an uneasy sleep, dreams full of red eyes and green light and where the forbidden forest and the graveyard merged into one.


	7. Six

Harry chose the next weekend for going to the Chamber of Secrets. He had been hoping that he wouldn’t have to go through with it, but it did look like he had no option. If it didn’t work, he was going to have to come up with another plan. Would he have time for that? In less than two weeks, the other two schools would be arriving, and the goblet would be set up. He had had a couple more dream visions of Voldemort with Dorian. He had to act now if he wanted to have some agency on what would happen to him. This was his bloody life, after all.

Harry felt guilty about involving Dobby, but he needed someone he could trust and there was no one else. As much as he loved his friends, and his godfather, none of them could be trusted not to go running to Dumbledore as soon as his back was turned. Even Sirius had this blind faith in Dumbledore that was annoying. But in this life, Dumbledore had not forced Sirius to stay cooped up inside a house he hated or to make peace with a man he hated. In this life, Dumbledore wouldn’t even have known Sirius was an animagus if Wormtail hadn’t squealed, but fortunately the years Sirius had already spent in Azkaban was deemed sufficient and he only had to register his form.

Even in his previous life, Sirius had trusted Dumbledore. He had been the one to tell Harry to go to Dumbledore if his scar hurt after all. No, involving Sirius was out of the question. Which left only Dobby.

The elf was ecstatic when Harry summoned him, and it caused Harry a pang of guilt.

“Dobby,” he said. “I need to do something, something that could be dangerous, but I need to do it. Will you help me?”

“The elf threw out its chest. “Dobby is happy to help Harry Potter, but is it wise to do dangerous things?”

“Do you remember coming to warn me in my second year?” Harry asked. “And telling me about the chamber of secrets?”

Dobby looked troubled, but nodded vigorously. “I do Harry Potter. I was warning you against He who must not be named.”

“Yes, well, he is going to come back soon, Dobby.” Harry prayed Dobby wouldn’t ask him how he knew.

Dobby’s eyes widened in fear.

“I need to stop him,” Harry said. “Will you help me, Dobby?”

“What is it you need, Harry Potter?”

“I need to go to the chamber of secrets,” Harry said. “When I call, can you come there and bring me back here?”

“Harry Potter shouldn’t go alone,” Dobby said, sounding worried.

“I have to do this alone, Dobby,” he said. “But I may need your help to come back. I also will need your word that you will not tell anyone about what I am doing and that you’re helping me. It’s very important, Dobby.”

Dobby looked torn, but he nodded. “Harry Potter freed Dobby and Dobby will help Harry Potter. And Dobby won’t tell anyone anything.”

Harry heaved a sigh of relief.

Sneaking out of Gryffindor tower at night posed no problems. Harry was a pro at this after all. He made his way to Moaning Myrtle’s toilet, hoping that the ghost wasn’t there. Luck was on his side and the bathroom was empty. He made his way to the tap with the snake symbol, and hissed,

“ _Open_ ,”

Parseltongue came so easily to him in this life.

The tap glowed with a brilliant white light and began to spin. Next second, the sink began to move; sinking, right out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed, just like he remembered from his previous life. Harry pulled off the cloak, stuffed it into his pocket and slid down the pipe, using a cushioning spell at the end, as he tumbled out. He tried not to think of the last time as he made his way to the chamber.

Silence reigned in the chamber. There was water pooled at places, but there was no sign of the snake. The statue of Slytherin was there. Harry stood at its base, looking up and was confronted by a fresh problem.

How was he going to talk to the snake when he wouldn’t be able to look it in the eye? How had Riddle controlled it without looking at it? Snakes couldn’t close their eyes, so it wasn’t like he could just ask the basilisk to close its eyes.

_Perhaps I can ask it not to look at me._

Harry’s palms were sweaty and he wiped it on his pants and gripped his wand tight. If nothing worked, he could just hide and call for Dobby to take him back. He didn’t want to risk the elf, but if this didn’t work he would have no choice. He looked around the chamber, looking for weak points in the crumbling stone. None of the pillars looked to be in pristine condition, which he hadn’t noticed the last time, terrified and anxious as he had been for Ginny.

One would think Slytherin could have done something to preserve the chamber. If the worst came to worst a bombarda at the ceiling or one of the pillars would buy him some time. He didn’t want to kill the basilisk, but he was prepared to.

Merlin, why was this so difficult this time? He had done this once already, and he was younger then, and didn’t even have a wand. Of course, faced with something like the basilisk, the wand might well be a stick. Besides, the last time he was saving Ginny, and he had an enemy to face as well. An enemy he hated. This time, it was only him and the snake. He swallowed and faced the statue, speaking in parseltongue the words he had heard Riddle speak so long ago,

“ _Speak to me Slytherin, Greatest of the Hogwarts Four_ ,”

The mouth opened and something stirred from within it.

“ _Please don’t come out,_ ” Harry said. “ _I just came here to make a request._ ”

“ _Speak,_ ” came the voice that Harry had once heard from inside the walls.

“ _I need some of your venom_ ,” he said.

There was an odd sound and he realised the snake was laughing.

“ _My venom cannot be stored in any container, and hence no wizard would be able to use it._ ”

Oh.

Harry hadn’t considered that. It made sense though. Something so destructive that it could destroy a horcrux had to be impossible to store.

“ _Don’t worry,_ _speaker_ ,” the snake hissed and something clattered on the floor next to where Harry was standing. A fang. “ _We lose them every hundred years and grow new ones, but the venom never loses its potency._ ”

Harry picked it up gingerly. “ _Thanks_ ,” he said.

“ _If that is all, I would go back to sleep_ ,” the basilisk said. “ _Unless you want me to go out,_ ”

“ _No_ ,” Harry said. “ _I… thank you. Go back to sleep_.”

He hurried out of the chamber, tucking the fang inside his robes. He would put it in the pouch as soon as he got back to the dorms.


	8. Seven

The horcruxes and the basilisk fang lay heavy on Harry’s mind. Every time he thought of them, he wanted to destroy the four horcruxes. To stab them repeatedly, to destroy them, to let out all his hatred for Voldemort, but he stayed his hand, and fought his impulse. He had a plan, one which did not involve anyone dying. Of course, it was fairly rudimentary at the moment, and probably too optimistic, but there was no reason for it not to work. As much as he hated the man, Harry knew Voldemort. He wouldn’t risk his precious soul fragments. He feared death to almost the point of insanity. Why else would he have tried to attack a baby? And that when he couldn’t even be certain it was the right baby?

It only remained for him to find a way to get to Little Hangleton, without getting into trouble. There were no Hogsmeade weekends coming up, and even if there were, Ron and Hermione would be with him. He had to find a way to ditch them and to leave Hogwarts as well. But even if he left, what then? He wouldn’t remain unmissed. He could go during the night, but he didn’t want to go into that creepy house during the night, and he also needed to sleep. The night he had gone to the chamber, he had ended up oversleeping and was nearly late.

Dobby could take him without anyone knowing. Apparate him out of Hogwarts and into Little Hangleton. It wouldn’t register as underage magic since it was being done from inside Hogwarts. Returning the same way too might be safe. After all, the ministry had warned him only about the hover charm, not about the apparitions. Obviously house elf apparitions didn’t register in the ministry’s radar even when done near an underage wizard.

More pressing was the matter of what he would do once he got into the Riddle House. There were inconsistencies in what he had learned about the trace, but it did seem as if his underage magic wouldn’t register if he was in a house with Voldemort. Otherwise, the ministry could have traced him to that graveyard in his previous life.

That would have made everything simpler.

So, he could use magic in the proximity of Voldemort and Dorian and it wouldn’t activate his trace. If it did, the ministry would find Voldemort and probably put him in Azkaban, solving Harry’s problems. He didn’t think they would expel him in that eventuality. If the trace was not activated, he could proceed with his plan and that would also solve his problems. It was a win win situation either way.

Which only left the timing, and how to ditch his two best friends. He loved them with all his heart, but no matter how hard he tried, these were not his Ron and Hermione. They had not left their families behind for him, had not starved in a tent with him, had not broken into the ministry, into Gringotts, into Hogwarts with him, had not suffered torture for him, had not saved his life and held him up when he flagged, and he would do anything to stop them from having to do all that.

So, how did he sneak out of the castle?

The marauders did it all the time. His breath caught. Sirius. He could tell Ron and Hermione that he was sneaking out during the weekend to spend it with Sirius. He could spin a tale about how Sirius was feeling down. Sirius would back him up. He just had to come up with a convincing enough reason.

Pranking Dudley?

That would win him Sirius’ instant approval. He had not been happy when he had learned of how the Dudleys had been treating Harry. So, this would appeal to him. Harry would tell him he needed to do this alone, and Sirius would let him. He was cool like that.

So, he had his lies ready, his plan ready, and Dobby was upset enough that Harry hadn’t needed his help down in the chamber after all, that he would be too happy to help him this time. He could just tell Dobby he needed to buy something from the muggle world. It would have to be the coming weekend, because the week after that was Halloween, and the goblet would be set up then.

_The day my parents died._

Never once in his previous life had he thought of it on the day of Halloween. The anniversary of his parents’ death and he had spent it celebrating with everyone. He sighed. What difference did it make anyway? His parents would have been happy that he was enjoying himself and not moping. Even though he didn’t know them personally, he still knew them. He knew that all they wanted was his happiness. They had looked sad the last time, in the forest, though they had supported him and his decision.

His decision. That was a laugh. Dumbledore had groomed him to the point he could have made no other decision. And yet, in spite of the rage that possessed him every time he thought of it, Harry knew that if it came to that point, he would still make the exact same decision. After all, hadn’t he been throwing himself in the line of fire to save everyone since his first year? Dumbledore had not caused that, he had only encouraged it. And even if Dumbledore hadn’t asked him, he still would have made that choice to walk to his death if it would have stopped Voldemort.

What did that say about him?

He didn’t want to analyse it further. He only wanted to make sure he wouldn’t be called upon to make that decision again. He was a kid for fuck’s sake. It shouldn’t be up to him to save the wizarding world. Mrs. Weasley had been right. It shouldn't have been them. Dumbledore had the entire order at his disposal. Dying might well have been Harry’s task, but the horcrux hunting need not have been. But then, Dumbledore didn’t trust. Not really. That was what it all came down to.

Secrets and lies, Aberforth had said. Dumbledore had been a natural.

_A natural at manipulation too._

Harry huffed in annoyance. He didn’t want to waste his time in these thoughts. Both Voldemort and Dumbledore could go fuck themselves. Harry was determined to be free of the baggage of his past and the one waiting for him in future. Once Voldemort was no longer a threat, Dumbledore’s interest in Harry would also wane, and he would finally be free.

At least, he hoped so.


	9. Eight

Harry was filled with purpose. He had no idea if what he was doing would work, but he had to try. If he could not prevent Voldemort’s rise, at least he could make sure it is on his terms. No more triwizard cups or traps, or duelling in graveyards.

He used his invisibility cloak so no one would see him as he walked to Riddle Manor. The old man was still alive, the caretaker, Frank Bryce. That was surprising. If Voldemort was living in the house, wouldn’t he have noticed it by now? Harry was glad he hadn’t, but it also made him doubtful. What if Voldemort wasn’t here? But he didn’t want to think of that. He had to be here. After all, he needed to be close to where his father was buried, and that was Riddle House.

Voldemort was nothing if not predictable, at least for Harry.

He drew a deep breath, and let it out as he entered the grounds. The caretaker’s cottage was there and he could see the old man inside, puttering around. Another exhale and inhale and Harry was across the yard and in front of the house. The front door was locked, but Harry had learned how to pick a lock from Fred and George, so it took him no time at all to unlock, open the door and slip inside, closing the door noiselessly behind him. He pulled off the cloak. He wasn’t here to hide. He gripped his wand tight. He was feeling relatively confident as he moved through the house. It was no use wearing the cloak anyway since Nagini could almost certainly see through it. Harry was not forgetting the trap at Godric’s Hollow.

The room in which Voldemort was in was small, and Nagini as well as Dorian was there, just as had been in his dream. The man must have rushed to his master’s side for the weekend. Harry cast an expelliarmus on Voldemort non verbally and a stupefy at Nagini and a petrificus Totalus at Dorian, bile rising to his throat.

“Harry Potter,” Voldemort hissed.

Harry’s scar was hurting fit to burst his head, but Harry was no stranger to pain at this point.

“Voldemort.”

“Are you here to kill me?”

How easy it would be, except… Harry thought of the horcruxes. Voldemort was not going to die, not today.

“No,” he said, “I’m here to make a deal.”

“The Boy who lived wants to make a deal with me.” It was hard to know what Voldemort was thinking from his voice and in this body, there was no expression to his face. “I’m listening.”

“I’ll help you with the ritual. You want my blood to regenerate yourself. I’m here, but once that is done, you have to agree to my terms.”

“How do you know all this?” Voldemort hissed. “About the ritual, about the blood?”

“It’s enough that I do,” Harry said. “You haven’t earned the right to answers, Voldemort. But if I do this, you will also do what I ask.”

“And you would accept my word for this?” Voldemort asked, a faint sneer in his voice..

“Yes, because I have your diary,” Harry said. He had thought this through. “Riddle’s diary. It is intact now, but it won’t be if I don’t go back.”

His instructions to Dobby were very specific. He had handed over the items to the elf and told him to use the fang to destroy him if Harry didn’t summon him by night. He had also given Dobby a letter to be delivered to Sirius afterwards.

There was no mistaking Voldemort’s emotions now. If he could, he would have rent him limb from limb.

“You know what that diary is,” Voldemort said, his voice throbbing with fury and fear?

“I do,” Harry said, steady enough. “And I don’t care, not really. I will return it to you intact if you agree to my terms. Do we have a deal?”

Voldemort seemed to be writhing inside his cocoon of clothes.

“We do,” Voldemort said finally.

“You’re not getting your wand back,” Harry said. “And neither is he.”

Harry pointed his wand at Nagini. “Petrificus Totalus.”

The unconscious snake went board like, and Harry winced as he touched his scar. Strange as it was, Voldemort cared for his snake.

“Can you stop that?” he asked. “Use occlumency or something. My scar hurts too much.”

“Your scar hurts?” Voldemort sounded surprised.

Harry snorted. “You didn’t think that a curse scar was that simple, did you?”

“If that scar lets you feel my emotions, I can access your mind using it,” Voldemort said silkily. “You know I can find the location of the diary from your mind. I can get everything I need from you.”

“Now, that just sounds like bad intimidation tactics, _Tom_ ,” Harry said. “You’re too smart to tell me what you plan to do. Unless you were planning to scare me. Consider me scared. Besides, _I_ have your wand in case you haven’t noticed, and you aren’t yet strong enough for the mental gymnastics you’re threatening me with.”

He pointed the wand at the man on the floor. “Finite incantatem.”

Dorian sprang to his feet and rushed Harry, but Harry had been ready, and he stunned him.

“We can do this all day,” Harry said calmly. “I have the entire weekend.”

“Revive him,” Voldemort said. “I will see to it he behaves.”

“Enervate,” Harry pointed his wand at the man.

“Do nothing,” Voldemort said. “Dorian, he is here to help.”

“So, let’s get on with it,” Harry tucked the two wands in his pocket.

“Not during the day,” Voldemort said. “We can’t attract the muggles’ attention.”

“And here I was thinking you were all about getting the muggles’ attention,” Harry said drily. “But if you think I’m going to sit here and twiddle my thumbs all day, you’re mistaken.”

“It’s only a couple of hours to sunset,” Voldemort said just as Dorian was about to make a furious retort. “Please be patient till then.”

“I have a curfew,” Harry said even more drily. “Or have you forgotten what Hogwarts is like? I’m sure your friend can remind you if you have.”

“We can’t attract the muggles’ attention,” Voldemort repeated.

“You mean you don’t want to attract the ministry’s attention,” Harry said. “Is there any reason why that ritual has to be done in the graveyard? Can’t he, I don’t know, _magic_ your dad’s bones here or something?”

Voldemort chuckled. “Do you think you can manage that, Dorian?”

“Yes, my lord,” Dorian gave Harry a look of deep loathing. “The spell should work provided the distance isn’t too great.”

“All right,” Harry said, handing over Dorian’s wand. “Just remember the diary, Tom.”

Voldemort said nothing.


	10. Nine

The ritual went just as Harry had remembered. The fire was lit, the cauldron placed on the flames, and Dorian started the ritual. It was not as impressive during the day within the house when he was not tied to a gravestone and frightened out of his mind. Ashes appearing out of thin air to fall into the cauldron was perhaps the most interesting part of all. Dorian swallowed before cutting off his arm, though his voice didn’t waver nor the determination on his face falter. Harry gave the man points for courage if nothing else. How on earth had Wormtail ever been sorted into Gryffindor? But then, Dumbledore had been a Gryffindor as well.

_Good to know that Sorting Hat can make mistakes._

Dorian looked at him, and Harry rolled his eyes before accepting the knife from the man, and cutting the same place that Wormtail had once. It seemed like aeons ago, though his memory of the time was still as fresh as ever. Before all this, Harry wouldn’t have believed remembered pain was a real thing.

“Blood of the enemy, reluctantly given, you shall revive your enemy.”

Those were not the words that had been spoken before, but Harry supposed it made sense. His blood was not forcibly taken this time and it was not as if he was happy to do this either. He was still Voldemort’s enemy, even though he might co-operate with him for this.

The cauldron bubbled and frothed and then Harry’s scar hurt so badly, he was seeing spots in front of his eyes. He fell to his knees, clutching his scar with one hand, but his other hand still kept the wand trained on Dorian. The smoke cleared and a pale form rose out of the cauldron. Harry felt a sweep of relief despite the pain in his scar.

“Robe me,” Voldemort’s voice was as cold as ever, and Harry felt a stab of fear that he tamped down, as he rose to his feet.

Dorian robed Voldemort and stepped away, cradling his arm against his chest. His robes became soaked with blood, but not a whimper of pain passed his lips. Voldemort seemed oblivious to everything as he was examining his body, just as in the last life. Finally he turned to look at Harry and Harry’s pain disappeared as it never had been.

Thank fuck for occlumency. He stared at Voldemort, refusing to look away. There were slight differences to Voldemort’s appearance this time around. His head was as hairless as Harry remembered him, but he had lips and a nose and eyebrows. His eyes were red and there was speculation in them as he looked at Harry.

“Wish I could say you look better, but not really.” Harry said.

Voldemort resembled a cross between a snake and a human, but his appearance was complimentary to neither species.

“Are you deliberately trying to provoke me?” Voldemort asked.

Harry shrugged, not answering.

Voldemort looked at Dorian and back to Harry. “My wand, Potter.”

“I don’t think so,” Harry said.

“Dorian will bleed to death,”

Harry made a face and cast a healing spell on Dorian, and cast an expelliarmus immediately after so that Dorian’s wand was also in his hand.

“All right,” Voldemort said, his lips thin in anger. “You have us at your mercy. State your terms.”

“I want you to make an unbreakable vow,” Harry said. “Dorian can be our bonder.”

“I can hardly do that without a wand.” Dorian said.

“I will give you your wand as soon as your master agrees to my terms,” Harry said, casting a full body bind on Dorian. Even without a wand, the man was an adult and large and could easily overpower Harry physically. Besides, it was exhausting having to keep both Voldemort and Dorian in his sights. At least he only had Voldemort to worry about now.

“And if I refuse?” Voldemort asked.

“You lose the diary,” Harry said. “Also your wand, though I’m sure your Death Eaters might be happy to provide you with one of theirs. Not like you can walk into Ollivander’s and order a new wand.”

“You think you’re clever, Potter, don’t you?” Voldemort asked, his eyes narrowed as he studied Harry.

Harry snorted. If only. Had he been clever, he would have asked questions, he would have tried to find answers by himself. If he had anything resembling a brain, he wouldn’t have trusted Dumbledore blindly. Harry was tired, so tired of this fight. It had always been an unequal fight and he had survived due to sacrifices made by others, and even despite his anger towards Dumbledore, Harry couldn’t forget that Dumbledore had given up on his own chance to defend himself in order to protect Harry.

_Just so I can die at the right time._

But what was the right time? After all, the only condition was that Voldemort had to be the one to kill him.

Except he still wanted to live. He was a bloody fool to think this would work. But at least, he had made arrangements. He braced himself as he took Voldemort’s wand and tossed it to the man.

“Just make it quick,” he said.

Voldemort looked stunned, as he caught the wand. Harry looked away, not even raising his wand. He had expected to die in the forest, but it hadn’t worked. Perhaps this time would work. Dobby would destroy the four horcruxes, and Sirius would get his letter detailing everything that had happened and also the location of the cup. Perhaps he would have better luck accessing Bellatrix’s vault considering he was related to her.

_Some things cannot be changed. At least, I’ll get to see my parents again. Hope it sticks this time._

Voldemort’s fingers caressed his wand, his narrowed eyes on Harry’s face.

“What happened to you?” he asked, his voice soft and something remarkably like concern on his face.

Harry was both furious and grieved. How dared Voldemort sound like he was concerned! If not for him, Harry’s parents would be alive, Harry wouldn’t be a horcrux and Harry’s life wouldn’t be this shitshow.

“None of your business,” he snapped.

Voldemort’s lips tightened in displeasure. “I can find out what I want from your mind, Potter!” he grated.

“I can do a shield charm,” Harry said through gritted teeth, though his heart was hammering. “Should stop your legilimency.”

Besides, if they cast against each other, it wouldn’t even work properly. Voldemort did not know that, though, and Harry wasn’t going to tell him.

Voldemort’s eyes flickered to Harry’s scar. “I don’t think I need a wand to enter your mind,” he said.

Harry shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “You don’t want to do that. The last time you tried to possess me didn’t go too well for you.”

Harry could have kicked himself as soon as the words were out of his mouth. His wand came up, ready to defend himself, while his free hand curled around the sock Dobby had given him, his eyes not meeting Voldemort’s, but staying somewhere near his ear.

Oh, he has ears now.

“The last time,” Voldemort’s voice was soft and smooth.

Harry swallowed. “This has been fun,” he said, before turning on the spot and disapparating to the hallway. He would have a few seconds, and he was still in the house with two adult wizards which was all he needed. “Dobby!”

The elf was at his side and he caught Harry’s hand and they both disapparated with a loud crack.


	11. Ten

Dobby took him into the Room of Requirement as per his request and left him there. He had an hour still before curfew and he needed some time to think, to sort out everything that had happened. He had succeeded in part of the plan, but the rest of it had been a spectacular failure. Of course, in hindsight, it was stupid to expect Voldemort to cave in to his threats, but he had hoped that he would be more concerned for his precious horcrux. Sighing, he tried to reassess the situation, only to come up against another problem.

He still had Dorian’s wand.

Harry huffed, annoyed with himself. Would Dorian even return to Hogwarts? How? He couldn’t apparate without a wand. Perhaps Voldemort would make a portkey for him, but would he come back at all? Harry sat down on the floor, thinking. Dorian might be misguided, but he did seem to be fiercely loyal—almost Barty Crouch level loyal—to Voldemort, and he was certainly braver than Wormtail. All of it pointed out to the fact that he might come back to Hogwarts, to try and capture Harry to get the diary and his wand back, perhaps. But could he be certain that Harry wouldn’t have gone to Dumbledore?

Harry had no plans to go to Dumbledore, even if his plan was fucked. As long as he held the pieces of Voldemort’s soul, he had some power over the man. Voldemort only knew about the diary. That was important. That gave him a slight advantage. That, and the fact that he was not a fourteen year old. Both Voldemort and Dorian would have guessed that he was not entirely helpless, but if Harry knew anything about Voldemort, it was that he had an ego that was larger than all of Britain. He would put it down to Harry taking them by surprise or luck.

Harry checked the items Dobby had handed back, and satisfied they were all there, put them back in his mokeskin pouch along with Dorian’s wand. He would get back to Gryffindor tower, and worry about everything else later.

As soon as he left the Room of Requirement, his scar gave a nasty twinge. He winced, but ignored it. It wasn’t a vision. He made his way to the Great Hall where dinner had already started and he sank down between Ron and Hermione with obvious relief.

“Are you all right, Harry?” Hermione asked, sounding concerned. “Is Sirius okay?”

“He’s fine,” Harry said. “I’m just a little bit tired,”

“Where’s Dorian gone?” Ron muttered. “He’s not at the staff table.”

“What do you want with him?” Harry asked, looking at the food and settling for only the treacle tart.

Ron shrugged, but it was Hermione who rolled her eyes.

“He gave Ron detention for this evening after dinner. Him, Fred and George. Caught them after hours last night when he was supposed to be in bed.”

“You went out without me?”

Harry gave Ron an injured look, as warmth, fondness, love spread through his chest.

“I was trying to follow Fred and George,” Ron said sheepishly, his face reddening. “There was no time to call you. You went to bed early last night, remember?”

Speaking of detentions… Harry nearly thunked his head on the table.

“Bloody hell, I forgot McGonagall gave me a detention this evening.”

“You should've paid attention in class,” Hermione said smugly.

Probably. He had been distracted with his plans though, and professor McGonagall had to call his name four times before Ron nudged him in the ribs and Harry had come back to earth. He wasn’t worried though. He had thought of postponing his trip to Little Hangleton for another day, but had figured that if something happened to him, McGonagall at least will know immediately.

“See you both later then,” Hermione smirked.

“You’re supposed to be our friend,” Harry said in mock indignation. Merlin, he would never not love this girl.

“Which is why I would like to see neither of you failing classes or getting expelled,” she said primly.

An owl landed in front of Harry before he could reply, and Harry took the letter tied to its leg. The handwriting was vaguely familiar, and he opened it, his heart racing.

_We need to talk._

There was no signature, but Harry could make a guess about who must have sent it.

“Fuck it, Dorian just arrived,” Ron muttered.

Hermione gave them both a sympathetic smile as everyone started rising from the dinner tables and Professor McGonagall approached the Gryffindor table.

“Mr. Potter, you will be serving your detention with Professor Fremont. Mr. Weasley, you shall assist professor Snape.” She turned her beady glance on Fred and George. “Mr. Fred Weasley shall assist our caretaker and Mr. George Weasley shall help Professor Grubblyplanks.”

Neither Fred nor George looked happy about it.

“Why do I get Snape and you get Dorian?” Ron moaned. “I should have got Dorian; he gave me detention for fuck’s sake.”

Harry’s heart was thrumming so hard, it was drowning out almost every sound. He would have swapped in a heartbeat, but he couldn’t let Ron or Hermione suspect anything. So, he tried to look happy and not to look at the staff table where he could feel Dorian’s eyes boring into him. He got up just as Ron, Fred and George did, and they all slouched to follow Professor McGonagall. She handed George to Hagrid and Fred to Filch first before taking Harry to Dorian, asking Ron to follow her which he did looking glum. Harry’s blood was roaring in his ears as he knocked at the door.

“Enter,” Dorian said, and Harry entered the room, wary, his hand gripped tight around his own wand.

Dorian lifted his hands to show he was unarmed, a look of speculation on his face.

“Please close the door, Mr. Potter. I don’t think you want anyone to accidentally witness or overhear this.”

Harry closed the door, and stood against it. Dorian and he stared at each other for a moment before Harry quickly stunned the other man. He didn’t want Dorian to learn about the mokeskin pouch. He cast a silent Muffiliato as well. Once he had Dorian’s wand in his hand, he revived the wizard and handed over his wand.

Dorian looked stunned as he accepted it.

“The Dark Lord would like to meet with you,” he said. “I assume you got his message.”

Harry nodded. “Not tonight,” he said.

Dorian nodded. “All right. But it wouldn’t do to keep him waiting. He’s not a patient man.”

Harry shrugged. “He may have to wait, I’m afraid.”

Dorian looked angry, but seemed to control himself.

“Well, it wouldn’t do to have you in detention if I gave you nothing to do. Take out a spare parchment and a quill.”

Harry complied, sitting down and placing the items before him.

“I want you to write a summary of everything I’ve taught you this year,” Dorian said as he swept to sit behind his desk, his wand held close to his body.

“How did your hand heal?” Harry asked, looking at the hand in surprise. It wasn’t the silvery hand Voldemort conjured for Wormtail. It looked like an ordinary hand. It also distracted him from the momentary spike of fear that burst into his veins as he realised Dorian was giving him lines. At least, this time, it was his own quill and parchment, so there would be no issues. He kept his eyes on Dorian, refusing to look at the back of his hand which would have no scars, but if he looked he could still see the words Umbridge had forced him to carve into his own skin.

“It’s an artificial limb, Mr. Potter,” Dorian said. “I have put an illusion spell to make it look normal.”

Harry nodded, curiosity satisfied as he bent towards the parchment.


	12. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!!!!!!! Thank you for all the love and keep it coming!! Harry will definitely need it!!

Harry was dreaming. He knew he was. He saw himself again, walking to the clearing in the Forbidden Forest, except there was someone else with him, another presence in his mind and Harry tried to shake it off, panic engulfing him. He couldn’t allow Voldemort to see this! But he could no more shake off the eyes watching from inside him than he could stop dreaming. At least there was nothing in this dream that gave too much away. Nothing about the horcruxes or about Snape and Dumbledore.

It was just as he had remembered. The clearing with the Death Eaters, and the enchanted cage that held Nagini and the fire and drawing every eye was Voldemort, pale and thin and snake like.

“I thought he would come,” said Voldemort in his high, clear voice, his eyes on the leaping flames. “I expected him to come.”

Harry could feel surprise not his own, and he watched as he stepped into the clearing, and faced Voldemort. He could feel curiosity not his own as the Voldemort in his dream stared at him with tilted head before casting the killing curse.

The dream changed. Harry was lying in a white room, and it was taking form around him. He was naked and then there were clothes and there was something under a bench, whimpering and in pain. And then there was Dumbledore. It took a moment for Harry to notice that the invasive presence in his mind was gone and for another for him to realise that this was what was supposed to have happened that day after Voldemort had hit him with the killing curse.

Why didn’t it happen then?

He listened as he asked Dumbledore for explanations and his heart stuttered as he heard Dumbledore saying he could not be killed as long as his blood ran in Voldemort’s veins. He remembered the fleeting look of triumph on Dumbledore’s face when Harry had first told him that.

So, Dumbledore sent him to his death, knowing he would not die. Did that make it any easier? He didn’t think so. There was also the way Dumbledore had spoken about Snape, so dismissively, with a “Poor Severus,” as if that was all the consideration he deserved after everything he had done.

No, he was not feeling forgiveness yet. Not towards Dumbledore anyway.

Had the man always been this callous?

“You cannot help,” he had said about the whimpering thing, and Harry had an idea of what it was.

The dream changed again, and Harry saw Neville drawing the sword of Gryffindor from the sorting hat to behead Nagini; he saw Ron’s mum defeat Bellatrix and kill her.

He was suddenly aware that once again, there was that presence in his mind, and he could feel rage and fear which were not his.

The dream changed again. He was standing in a void. There was nothing, and then he saw his parents. They looked the same as they did in the forest, their eyes shining with pride and love.

“Mum,” he whispered. “Dad,”

There was this fierce ache inside his heart for everything he had lost, for everyone he had lost, for the love he had had so briefly.

He was suddenly aware that Voldemort was there, not as a presence in his mind, but right there next to him, though he seemed unaware of Harry or his parents. His eyes were fixed on something Harry couldn’t see.

“Harry,” his mum said. “We’re so proud of you. But we couldn’t bear what you’ve been through. You’re right; it was what should have happened, but we changed it to give you a second chance, to change things.”

“You did this?” he asked, surprised and hurt at the same time.

Why were his parents making him go through this again? Why did he have to live through all this again?

“We did,” his dad said. “We called in a few favours, bargained for a few lives including yours, but…” his eyes went to Voldemort and an expression of distaste crossed his face. “it means that you will have to work with him.”

“Work with him?” Harry stared at them. “What do you mean?”

“Not what you’re thinking,” his mum smiled at him. “We’re not asking you to join him, but everything that happened in your other life is going to happen in this too, only in different ways. Every person who died there will die here too, unless the two of you work together to prevent it.”

Harry’s mind was racing. Everyone was going to die again? Cedric, Sirius… and his heart clenched.

“Is there no other way?”

“I’m sorry,” his dad said softly. “There is a limit to what we can do, Harry. This was the best compromise if you want to save everyone.”

“To save everyone from him, I’ve to work with him?” Harry muttered. “There’s just one problem with that. He won’t work with me.”

“He will,” Lily said. “He is seeing the future too, and he is being told the same thing. He will want to work with you, Harry. But you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

“If I don’t, I’ll lose everyone,” he said bitterly. “How am I going to live with that?”

“We can remove all your memories of your past life and of this dream,” his dad said. “I know we’re asking too much of you, Harry, but you do have a choice.”

If he forgot, he knew exactly what he was going to do. He would go to Dumbledore, tell him Voldemort was back, and everything would happen as it did the last time.

“What happens if I forget?” he asked.

Would that be too bad? At least, he won’t be part of the Triwizard tournament. That was a certainty in this life. So, he helped resurrect Voldemort, but he knew that everyone will assume he was imperiused or something.

Images slammed into him, and he swallowed, events flashed by him, and he saw Dumbledore pushing to get Sirius declared incompetent to be Harry’s guardian so he would go back to the Dursleys and be safe there.

_Safe._

His lips curled in contempt. It was rather telling that he preferred to work with Voldemort than go back to the Dursleys.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “I will work with him.”

“You only have time up to the day he came back the first time,” his mum said. “If the two of you haven’t changed enough things by then, the timeline will reset itself and everything will be as it was. But if you change enough things, this timeline will overwrite the other one.”

It sounded overly complicated, but Harry nodded. That gave him only up to the end of the triwizard tournament. A few months to save everyone. He could do this. He would do this.

_I_ _can_ _save Sirius!_

That was something worth even working with Voldemort.


	13. Twelve

Harry yawned through breakfast, feeling as if he had not slept at all. He still could not make sense of what he had seen. He had promised his parents he would work with Voldemort, but was he really ready to?

_I was planning to work with him earlier._

Harry dismissed that thought. All he had been planning on was to get Voldemort to swear an unbreakable vow that he wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Would something like that count as working together?

Somehow, he had a feeling things weren’t going to be that simple. What was he even supposed to do? How was he to work with Voldemort? Voldemort had received his own set of instructions according to his parents, but that didn’t mean Voldemort would be willing. Knowing the wizard, he would probably dismiss what he had seen. Even if he didn’t, what was so bad about the future he had seen that he would even want to change it?

_Nagini and Bellatrix dies._

Even if they were going to lose in the end, Harry would have liked to see those deaths. Perhaps he was vindictive and bloodthirsty, but he couldn’t deny that it would have been extremely satisfactory to see Neville behead Nagini. Even more satisfying would have been to see Bellatrix fall. He had never liked her, but ever since she killed Sirius, his hatred of her had been more dominant.

_It hasn’t even happened, and I have a chance to change that._

Harry drank some tea, chuckling inwardly. Wasn’t it funny that he was ready to consider working with the man who had killed his parents, but couldn’t contemplate forgiving the woman who hadn’t even killed his godfather in this life?

She had still tortured Neville’s parents to madness.

Voldemort had caused the death of thousands. He had tortured and killed just for fun.

Was there really anything to choose between the two? And yet, if he had to choose, Harry would still choose Voldemort over Bellatrix. There was some reasoning with the wizard as had already been proven, but Bellatrix was just batshit crazy.

“Why so thoughtful?” a familiar voice asked and Harry’s head snapped up so fast he got whiplash.

“Sirius!” he couldn’t help the wide smile that appeared on his face. “What are you doing here?”

Sirius shrugged.

“Dumbledore wanted to see me,” he said, looking around the great hall, and smiling at Ron and Hermione who both gave him big smiles.

“Did you have fun yesterday?” Hermione asked in a whisper and Harry held his breath, but Sirius was not even fazed. “Of course. I taught Harry a few spells.” He winked at Harry. “Spells that you’re likely to learn later in the year,” he added. “Or may be even next year.”

“Tease,” Hermione said, grinning.

“Well, I need to see Minerva first,” Sirius said. “See you later, Harry.”

Harry nodded and turned to Ron and Hermione. “Do you two mind if I go back to the dorms? Feels like I haven’t had any sleep at all.”

“Are you all right, Harry?” Hermione asked. “You do look a bit peaked.”

“I’m fine,” Harry said, “Just tired is all.”

He made good his escape before Hermione could grill him further. She had been planning to go to the library after breakfast and Ron was going with Fred and George to Hagrid’s. So, he was safe for the moment. As soon as he was out of the great hall, he pulled out the cloak and covered himself. Slowly he made his way towards professor McGonagall’s office. He hated that he had to spy on Sirius—Sirius of all people!—but he was suspicious. Why would Dumbledore even want to see Sirius?

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say, Albus.” He heard Sirius say as soon as he reached the half closed door. He caught his breath. Sirius sounded angry.

“We’re not saying anything bad, Sirius,” Dumbledore said. “Merely that we’re worried about Harry.”

“I don’t see why,” Sirius said. “he’s fine now that he’s not living with his aunt and uncle any more.”

Harry edged closer to the door and he could see four people inside the room. McGonagall was sitting behind her desk, Sirius was perched on it and Dumbledore was sitting in the chair facing it. Snape was standing by the window, seemingly uninterested in the proceedings.

“And I don’t see why he is here,” Sirius said, shooting Snape a look of intense loathing that Harry knew too well.

“Severus has noticed some changes in Harry’s behaviour,” Dumbledore said. “Much before we all did.”

“When he arrived at Hogwarts,” Snape said, “Potter was arrogant, and ready to shoot off his mouth to anyone, with a complete disregard for the rules. However, there appeared a change in his behaviour sometime during the second year.” Snape paused. “From the attention seeking, brash child, he suddenly made an about turn, effacing himself so much he might well be invisible. He never calls attention to himself, he is distracted in every class, and has been behaving politely to me.”

Harry’s heart was hammering. Would Dumbledore suspect the truth.

“You’re…” Sirius started, staring at Snape in surprise. “Harry is polite and that is your problem?”

“The problem is, Mr. Potter is behaving strangely towards everyone.” McGonagall said. “After Severus brought his suspicions to me, I have been observing him rather more closely than usual. He spends time with Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, and yet he holds himself apart, he doesn’t even seems to be interested in picking fights with Mr. Malfoy, he is not as interested in Quidditch as he had been at first, and he rarely visits Hagrid these days.”

“Look,” Sirius said, clearly exasperated. “He’s a kid. They change as they grow up. Why are you all making such a big deal out of this?”

“Yesterday he spent the entire day in the seventh floor,” Dumbledore said. “He skipped lunch and spent the day alone in the seventh floor. You consider that normal?”

“How do you know where he was?” Sirius asked.

“One of the portraits saw him heading to the seventh floor in the morning, and leaving in the evening.”

“So, he wanted to be alone for a day,” Sirius said.

Harry was silently cursing himself. He should have known that someone would notice something. Dumbledore was never going to not watch him. And Snape. Harry felt betrayed. He had tried to be nice to the git and this was the result?

“Sirius,” Dumbledore sounded impatient. “We are all concerned about Harry. We’re not criticizing his behaviour, but I cannot help but notice that the way he has been acting is consistent with survivors of traumatic experiences.”

“And you’re surprised at this?” Sirius asked, his voice deathly quiet. “His relatives, starved him, abused him, locked him in a cupboard and you’re surprised he’s traumatised?”

A moment’s silence when Harry wished the earth would open up and swallow him whole though none of them could see him anyway.

“What?” Snape and McGonagall asked at the same time.

“You didn’t tell them?” Sirius asked Dumbledore, a sneer twisting his handsome face.

“He has been living with you for a year now,” Dumbledore said after a moment.

“You think twelve years of trauma can be wiped off in a few months?” McGonagall asked, sounding disappointed in Dumbledore. “If… that would explain it. Merlin, how did none of us notice in his first year?”

“His excitement at finding out he’s a wizard and being here must have overshadowed it,” Sirius said drily. “But it cannot be kept down forever. You know this, Albus. I understand your concern, but we cannot do anything except give him time.”

“Don’t worry,” McGonagall said, a martial light in her eyes. “I’ll see that he’s not unnecessarily bothered again. Thank you for telling us, Sirius. It will not go beyond these walls.”

Harry crept back to the common room, his mind in turmoil. Some part of him wished that Sirius had not told them anything, but at least it would get them off his case now.


	14. Thirteen

It was a familiar dream, but knowing it wasn’t helping. Harry was in the graveyard and a high cold voice was saying the killing curse, and Cedric fell to the ground, dead.

_This is wrong. This hasn’t happened._

Something tackled him, and though he rolled and attempted to get up, a heavy body pinned him down. Harry stared into a familiar pale face with red eyes, and his struggles intensified.

“Potter,” Voldemort growled. “Stop fighting me. We need to meet.”

Harry stared at him, not understanding. “What?” he croaked.

“We need to talk of what we saw in that dream, and how to avert that,” Voldemort said. “Unless you want the future that you saw.”

Harry stared into the eyes of his mortal enemy and thought of Sirius dying, of Dumbledore falling, of Fred, of Lupin, of Tonks, of Mad Eye, of Colin…

_I_ _don’t even know Mad Eye in this life._

“Well?” Voldemort sounded impatient.

What did Voldemort see that he wanted that future averted? Harry swallowed. Was it Bellatrix’s death? Or Nagini’s? He was certainly fond of the snake. Dumbledore had said Voldemort was incapable of feeling emotions, but here he was, wanting to change things just like Harry. What had he seen? Something was thick on his tongue, the memories of the people he had lost and was going to lose if he did not do this.

_I haven’t lost any of them yet._

But this was _Voldemort_.

“How do I know this isn’t a trap?” he asked, his heart pounding.

What had Voldemort seen?

“You name the place,” Voldemort said. “Name the time. Name whatever condition you care to set.”

“Why can’t we talk now?” Harry demanded.

“Because as extraordinary as I am, I still need to sleep,” Voldemort said, acerbically. “And I haven’t been able to for the past few nights. You’re hard to find even in dreams, even through,” his eyes lingered on the scar on Harry’s forehead. “our connection.”

Harry flinched.

“Also, Dorian tells me you’ve been avoiding him,” Voldemort continued. “That you run off as soon as class is done, and for some reason, your head of house insists on you serving every detention under her.”

“He shouldn’t have tried to put me in detention,” Harry said a bit smugly.

Voldemort scowled. “That is beside the point here. I’m not a patient man and I have been more than patient with you. We need to meet, Potter.”

Harry drew and released a couple of deep breaths.

“Get off me,” he said.

Voldemort seemed surprised that he was still pinning Harry down and he moved with alacrity. “Hope you won’t try to run again.”

They sat there, next to each other in Harry’s dreamscape which was no longer the graveyard, but the cupboard under the stairs where he hadn’t been for years. Voldemort wasn’t looking around, not even curious, his eyes fixed on Harry’s face still with a scrutiny that was making him uncomfortable.

“I can’t trust you,” he said finally.

The red eyes narrowed in anger.

“What is all this talk of trust?” he spat. “This is only about working together to make sure the horrible future we saw wouldn’t come to pass.” The eyes narrowed further. “What did you see?” Voldemort asked, his voice a sibilant hiss.

Harry was not going to tell him. “What did _you_ see?” he challenged instead.

Voldemort’s eyes were still narrowed and he was looking into Harry’s with the kind of laser focus that no one had ever given him except maybe Dumbledore. A look of frustration crossed the adult wizard’s face.

“Why should I tell you?”

“You want us to work together,” Harry pointed out, as if it was obvious.

Blood was pounding in his ears. The terrible future he had seen was one he would do anything to avert, but would it even work? Who had shown them those visions? If it were not the shades of his parents who had told him that working with Voldemort and not against him was the only way to change what was coming, he wouldn’t have believed it. But who had Voldemort seen in that in between place where nothing and everything was real? What had he seen?

“And you said you can’t trust me.” Voldemort grated out.

“Why are you so stubborn?” Harry was exasperated. “How can I trust you want this enough if you won’t even tell me what you saw?”

“And how can I trust _you_?” Voldemort shot back.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m not the one who has been hunting you since you were an infant.”

Voldemort’s eyes remained narrowed till finally he nodded. “Fair point.”

“So, what did you see?” Harry prompted.

“If I tell you, will you agree to work together?”

Dared he make that promise? Harry thought of what he remembered. Sirius dead, Dumbledore dead, Fred dead, Remus dead, and he swallowed.

“Yes,” he said. “But you have to work with me too.”

“I agree,” Voldemort said, far too readily.

Something shifted within him, and from the way Voldemort’s eyes widened, he had felt something too. It felt like something slotting into place, a feeling of rightness.

“What was that?” Harry whispered, awed.

“A binding magical contract,” Voldemort said drily, as if it was nothing. “If I do tell you what I saw, you have to work with me and I with you without attempting to harm one another.”

“I don’t want you to harm anyone,” Harry muttered and his blood thumped in his ears in a staccato beat whispering _Sirius, Sirius, Sirius._

“We can reach accommodations,” Voldemort said, reluctantly. “I’ve no desire to live out the rest of my days without magic, because I couldn’t work with you on this. The future I saw would be far preferable.”

Harry was aware his mouth was hanging open.

“So, what did you see?” he asked when he finally found his voice, and Voldemort gave a huff.

“You’re as persistent as a dog with a bone, aren’t you?”

If Harry didn’t know better, he would have said Voldemort was nervous. He remained quiet.

“I saw my death,” Voldemort said finally. “You… not you, older you, and I were duelling, and…” he swallowed. “That’s what I saw.”

Oh.

Harry couldn’t breathe. Voldemort dead, and _he_ alive? A future where this monster no longer lived, and he, Harry had managed to vanquish him for good? Was that what was supposed to happen after the forest? Why had his parents wanted to change that? He would have been free, finally. And he had just now agreed to change that…

_Sirius would still be dead._

But a future without Voldemort…

Harry heaved in lungfuls of air, his insides twisting and writhing. What sort of a future was he working for? Did he think that Voldemort’s return was going to be painless? He was bound to lose people, but he was still going to win in the end, and now he had traded that away. His parents had agreed to forsake that future.

For what?

_Why did they tell me to work with him?_

Harry had no answers. They had only told him he had to work with Voldemort if he wanted the future to change.

_If_

It was too late now to change his mind. _A binding magical contract._ Harry drew in a shuddering breath.

“Okay,” he said finally. “When do you want to meet?”


	15. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Harry!!! Thank you all for the support you've given this fic. Keep the love going!!

The air of excitement in the castle was palpable as the day for the arrival of the other two schools drew near. Harry tried his best to get involved in it, but there was a pit in his stomach as the weekend approached. Voldemort had fixed Sunday as the day for their meeting, and had said that Dorian would arrange everything. But Dorian had not attempted to talk to him or try and give him a detention for not paying enough attention in class. Harry found his attention wandering constantly. He was wound tight, everything was taut to the point he feared he was going to break apart into pieces.

_That will be something like._

As they all waited in the Great Hall for the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang to arrive, Harry could pay only perfunctory attention to everything that was going on. He wanted so badly to catch sight of Fleur, feeling a heaviness settle on his chest at the thought of her. Would she and Bill even get together in this life? As much as Harry wanted to think that some things were meant to happen, he couldn’t feel that optimistic. Even if Bill and Fleur got together, Harry had no illusions that she would ever show him the same kindness that he had got in his previous life. Somehow, that saddened him.

Of course there was not even a guarantee that she and Bill would get together any more than the chances for him and Ginny to get together. A feeling equal parts joy and grief rushed through him at the thought of Ginny. This Ginny was already different from the girl he had known. For one, she had no idea she had been possessed by Voldemort, and even though she flushed and stammered every time he was near, Harry knew it would not last. There was also the fact that she was too young.

_She’s in the third year now._

_That’s still a child._

_She’ll grow up._

_She’s Ron’s sister still._

He had not forgotten how Ron had reacted to him the last time after he had broken things off. Would things be different this time? Could he guarantee that he wouldn’t need to break things off with her again? How could he in good conscience try and date her when his own future was so uncertain.

He sighed softly. He shouldn’t be thinking this way about her. She was only thirteen for Merlin’s sake. And no matter what he looked like, no matter his physical age, he was _not_ fourteen.

Gasps and shrieks from around him recalled him to the present and he saw the giant powder blue carriage of the Beauxbatons hurtle closer. His heart squeezed a bit painfully as memories assaulted him. Shell cottage, the ocean, Fleur and Bill, Griphook, Dobby… Harry bent his head and blinked to clear his eyes. He could do this. He had walked to his death. He had made a deal with his mortal enemy. This was nothing.

“Mr. Potter?” McGonagall was at his side.

“Yes, professor?” he mumbled, not looking her in the eyes.

“Meet me at the office after dinner. There’s something I need to discuss with you.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “You’re not in trouble.”

That still left him confused and worried, but he pushed that to a side as he saw the Beauxbatons leaving the carriage and following Madame Maxine in. He craned his neck to catch sight of Fleur and felt his vision blur again, distracting him from what professor McGongall had said. He remembered the professor’s pride in him when the Carrows had fretted about him in Ravenclaw common room, but he also couldn’t forget that she was blindly devoted to Dumbledore.

_As was I once._

Dumbledore’s man, he had said to Scrimgeour. What a fool he had been! His attention was distracted again as the top of the Durmstrang’s ship became visible in the Great Lake. He pretended to enter into Ron’s excitement about Krum, but his mind was again back to what McGonagall had said. Why did she want to meet him? Did this have anything to do with the conversation he had overheard? Was she perhaps going to question him about how the Dursleys had treated him?

Harry suppressed a sigh as he focussed on his food. It had been so long ago. Not that he would ever forget the Dursleys, but he had also not forgotten that Dudley at least had changed his mind about him. True, it had needed Harry to save him from dementors, but he had a feeling that him saving them from a burning building wouldn’t have changed his uncle and aunt’s mind about him.

The dinner was over soon, the goblet unveiled and it was time to head to bed, except Harry had to meet McGonagall. He told Ron and Hermione that professor McGonagall wanted to meet him and escaped before they could ask him anything. He found his feet dragging as he made his way to his Head of House’s office. He might be traumatised, but the Dursleys weren’t responsible for that.

_Not this time._

To be fair, from the time he had discovered the truth of Sirius’ existence, life in Privet Drive had got a lot better. Even before that, instances of corporeal punishment was rare. Uncle Vernon might threaten to hit him, but he had not actually hit him since he started school.

_Probably didn’t want to catch my freakishness._

Not that he missed it. But what was he going to tell Professor McGonagall if she were to ask him about it? Especially considering he didn’t live with them any more. He had no idea about how long childhood trauma would last. His distraction was not due to that, but he could hardly tell her that.

“Sit down, Potter,” she said, giving him a beady eyed stare. “Usually, your guardian should be present for this, but I decided I would ask your permission before involving Sirius. If you say no, there is no need for him to be involved.”

Harry frowned. What was she talking about. “My permission for what, professor?”

“Not to mince matters, Potter, but we do believe that the behaviour of your muggle relatives towards you was reprehensible, and that it may have led to mental trauma that you may not even be aware of.”

“I’m fine,” Harry said, just for the sake of protesting. He was intensely curious to know where this was going.

“Well, of course you’d say that. What I want you to consider is working closely with someone who is knowledgeable about such things. A mind healer. It is the equivalent of a muggle therapist, I believe they are called.”

Harry wasn’t surprised at Professor McGonagall’s knowledge of what a therapist was. She was the kind of person who would find out all she could before confronting him with this. Thing was Harry didn’t _want_ a therapist, muggle or magical. He didn’t know how magical methods of stress counselling worked, but he wouldn’t be surprised if there were bits of legilimency involved, and right now he couldn’t risk any of the secrets in his mind to be revealed to anyone.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “What does it mean precisely?”

“Do you consent to it then?”

“I cannot consent if I don’t know what is involved,” Harry said.

She pursed her lips for a moment.

“It involves you spending time with this person, talking to them of your experiences, and they would be able to help you deal with it.”

“Will they be using magic to help me deal with it?” Harry asked bluntly.

She hesitated.

“Not without your consent,” she said. “As I said, this is contingent on your permission, Potter. Professor Fremont recommended this person, and his credentials are good. Professor Dumbledore too agrees.”

Harry wanted to laugh, but knew how it would sound like. What the fuck? Dorian had suggested this person and Dumbledore had vetted him? It was almost funny to think of Voldemort posing as Harry’s therapist and Dumbledore being in the dark. Laughter bubbled inside him again, but he swallowed it.

“If I agree, what then?”

“Then we need your guardian’s consent.”

Sirius would agree if Harry agreed. He was beginning to see why she had asked him first. He looked down, his insides twisting. It was the perfect opportunity for him and Voldemort to meet, to work out how they were going to change things, but… it was still _Voldemort_ and binding magical contract or not, how could Harry trust him?

Did he have a choice here? Sirius was going to die if he didn’t work with Voldemort. Besides, he had already agreed to meeting him, and this… this was too convenient.

“All right,” he said. “I agree.”

Professor McGonagall beamed at him.


	16. Fifteen

Sleep was a long time coming that night. He could hear Ron’s soft snores and Neville’s rather louder ones. It was comforting to listen to it. He had told Ron and Hermione that McGonagall had wanted him to see a wizarding therapist. Both of them had hugged him and comforted him and it had made him feel bad about keeping so many things from them.

And yet, what could he actually tell them?

Hermione had said it was brave of him to ask for help and Ron had agreed.

What would they have said if they had known that it was Voldemort?

Was it though? So far, he only had conjectures. Reasonable ones, true, but conjectures nevertheless. He yawned, the exhaustion of his body and everything that had happened in the last few days finally catching up with him. His last thought as he drifted into sleep was that he needed to talk to Sirius tomorrow.

Harry woke early, though it was Sunday and for a moment couldn’t understand the trepidation and excitement that was rushing through him. He looked at his watch and saw that it was only 6. He groaned and burrowed his face into his pillow, knowing it was a futile exercise. There was no recapturing his lost sleep. He sat up with a sigh and padded to the windows to stare outside. The sun wasn’t up yet and a fine mist hung around the castle, casting a thin veil of moisture over the grounds, and distorting the familiar landmarks. The forbidden forest looked darker and more mysterious at this time.

The forest.

Harry swallowed as he remembered the last time he had been in there. The last time before he was thrown into this life. The day he had walked to his death, the shades of his parents, and Sirius and Remus with him, and supporting him, encouraging him, comforting him. Did they know he wasn’t actually going to die? That Voldemort was?

And yet they had chosen to bargain for a different future, a future where Harry wouldn’t have to be brave enough to walk to his death, where he wouldn’t have to lose his godfather or Remus or anyone else.

But it was also a future where Voldemort too lived.

_It is done. Get over it._

But his mind was in no mood to listen. A binding magical contract. Why did it have to be with the man who murdered his parents? Why couldn’t he work with anyone else? Literally anyone but Voldemort? Though he supposed Voldemort was a better choice than Bellatrix.

Small mercies.

He stood at the window till the sun was up and the mist dissipated, and the grounds became clearer and more defined, the shadow of the forest still as dark and forbidding. He shivered slightly, as he looked at his dorm mates. Everyone was asleep. Harry went to his trunk and took out the two way mirror.

“Sirius,” he said.

“Harry?” Sirius’ face appeared on the mirror. “You’re up early.”

“I’m scared,” Harry said.

Perhaps the Harry from the past life wouldn’t have said it. He would have thought himself weak for feeling it, let alone saying it. Perhaps the Sirius from the past might have thought him weak too for this confession. After all, James Potter had never been afraid of anything in his life. But this Sirius had been raising him, even if only for a short while, and Harry had noticed and had revelled in the subtle changes in his godfather’s behaviour towards him; that he was finally seeing Harry for himself, not as a James substitute, that after just a year, he was a real parent to Harry.

“Of the mind healer?” Sirius asked, his eyes softening so much that Harry felt a lump rise to his throat. “You know you don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. No one’s going to push you.”

“I know,” Harry muttered. “I want to do this… I’m just… I don’t even know what it entails, Sirius… I don’t… I don’t want someone rooting around in my head.”

“They won’t,” Sirius said firmly. “It’s not much different from muggle therapy, Harry. Any use of magic will be only to calm you, and there shall be no invasion into your thoughts or your mind. He will work with what you choose to share, and if you feel this isn’t working, you can discontinue at any time.”

It was comforting to hear that even though Harry knew his situation was not so simple.

“Have you met him?” Harry asked finally. “What’s his name?”

“I talked to him, yes,” Sirius said. “So did Minerva and Albus. His name is Sean Renstin, and his credentials are good.”

_Sean Renstin. At least he isn’t calling himself Tom._

“How long does it take?” Harry asked.

He only had the vaguest idea of muggle therapy, aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon having a deep seated contempt for anyone who might need it.

“It takes as long as you need,” Sirius said. “Usually, mind healing requires hours of work each day, but since you’re still in school, it would have to be cut short to accommodate your classes and course work. Albus and Minerva has decided that you be exempted from homework this year, so you would have time to spend on this. You might also need to stay with Renstin for two nights a week.”

“Stay with him?” Harry’s voice might have gone up an octave.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Sirius said. “It is a part of mind healing, so they can observe and help with nightmares if any, but if you’re not comfortable, you don’t have to.”

How could Harry tell Sirius that the ‘mind healer’ was the cause of every one of his nightmares?

“I’ll think about it,” Harry muttered. “I mean, I can decide later, can’t I?”

“You don’t have to decide on anything till you have met and talked to him. Supervised by your Head of House the first time. All your sessions will be supervised if you want since you’re still in school. If you’re not comfortable having Minerva there, I can come over.”

Harry drew a deep breath. Did he want Voldemort anywhere in the school and near his friends? Did he want Sirius anywhere near Voldemort? This was a good excuse for him and Voldemort to meet and figure out what to do, but magical contract or no, Harry couldn’t trust Voldemort to do something to turn things to his advantage. After all, the contract only meant they had to work with each other without causing the other harm. Voldemort harming his friends or Sirius or using them for leverage wouldn’t classify as harm, would it?

“Sirius,” he said. “Dumbledore said something about binding magical contracts when he was talking of the Triwizard tournament. What exactly does it mean?”

“It means that you’re magically bound to fulfill the terms of the contract, in this case, take part in the tournament. If you don’t, you lose your magic.”

“How exact is it?” Harry asked. “I mean, if someone entered into a contract like that not to harm someone, how much leeway do they have?”

“That’s oddly specific,” Sirius said.

“It’s a wager with Malfoy,” Harry said without missing a beat. “He thinks he knows everything, it’s bloody annoying.”

Sirius chuckled. “Well, in this case, harm depends on the interpretation of the parties involved. Both of them. If one of them perceives the other looking at them angrily as harm, the other can’t do that even if he considers stabbing the other one as not harming them, but a bit of fun.”

Harry felt relief sweep over him.

“Wait till I tell Malfoy,” he said gleefully. “The prat is boasting he can get around any contract.”

Sirius laughed. “You show him,” he said.

Harry was thoughtful as he put the mirror back. If Sirius was right—and Harry had no reason to think he wasn’t—then that meant that Voldemort didn’t have much leeway to turn things to his advantage. Which meant that Harry still had the advantage of his memories, and the four horcruxes in his custody. Of course, he couldn’t destroy them now, but his having them was enough of a leverage should he need it. After all, it was Voldemort he was dealing with here.


	17. Sixteen

The corridor seemed endless, and Harry was thankful that it was a holiday and that students weren’t about. He looked at the back of Professor McGonagall’s head and wondered what she would say if he told her that the mind healer was Voldemort in disguise. He suppressed a chuckle. Even as his nervousness increased, he couldn’t help but admire the audacity of the wizard. Twice he had successfully introduced his own people into Hogwarts as teachers and both times Dumbledore had been fooled. This time he was introducing himself though not as a teacher and it seemed Dumbledore was being fooled again. Was it that the headmaster was too willing to believe the best in people, or simply blind?

_He had never believed the best in Tom Riddle._

Harry frowned at the thought.

“Here, we are, Potter,” Professor McGonagall said as she knocked at a door.

“Enter,” said a high, cold voice that had been giving Harry nightmares for nearly seven years.

“Mr. Renstin,” Professor McGonagall said on entering. “This is Harry Potter.”

Harry nearly gaped as he looked at the man. It was Voldemort as Harry had seen him last. Like he got stuck somewhere between snake and human, and yet Professor McGonagall was behaving quite normally. Voldemort’s eyes met Harry’s and a small smile of amusement quirked his mouth.

“I’m aware of who Mr. Potter is,” he said. “I hardly think there’s a wizard in these isles who doesn’t know him.”

“Have a seat, Potter,” Professor McGonagall said and Harry sat down on a chair facing a desk behind which Voldemort was sitting. Professor McGonagall sat next to him. “Mr. Renstin,” he said. “Mr. Fremont has vouched for you and we have verified your credentials ourselves. But I must stress the importance of keeping this quiet. Not only is Potter underage, but as you yourself pointed out, he is known to everyone. There are a lot of people who would pay to have whatever information he chooses to share with you. Just the fact that-”

“I understand your concern,” Voldemort interrupted smoothly. “And I’m ready to subject myself to any spell of your choosing if that would reassure you. As you know well, a mind healer and his patient are often liked by magical contracts which would prevent me from taking advantage of Mr. Potter’s vulnerabilities and from disclosing anything he confides in me. But you’re welcome to add additional clauses to the contract if you so wish.”

Harry gaped openly this time. Voldemort was ready to enter into a contract with him? It seemed a bit excessive considering there was already a contract in place. Also, it explained why Sirius and everyone else had been in favour of the idea.

The thought of his fame and what some people—Rita Skeeter came to mind—would do to get the information that he was seeing a mind healer and of what he was confiding to him had never occurred to him till Professor McGonagall talked of it. It hadn’t occurred to him because he had got used to being stared at till people got tired of it and besides, he had known this was Voldemort and the thought of him sitting down with Rita Skeeter to give her the low down on Harry was laughable at best.

“That will be up to Mr. Potter and his guardian, of course,” Professor McGonagall said.

“The standard one would do,” Harry said hastily. “How soon can we start?”

Professor McGonagall waved her wand and a rolled up parchment appeared on the desk. She picked it up and handed it to him.

“I suggest you read it through. Sirius has one copy of this. You can talk to him if you wish. Mr. Renstin is already familiar with the terms. You can add something to this if you wish. The wording is irrelevant, since the contract is bound my magic, not law. But the changed contract will be available only to you, Sirius and Mr. Renstin.”

“Why Sirius?” Harry asked.

“Because you’re underage,” Professor McGonagall said. “A copy of every contract you enter into are automatically made available to your guardian.”

Harry frowned. He had already entered into a contract if Voldemort was to be believed and no intimation of it had gone to Sirius.

_What if magic doesn’t see me as underage?_

He read through the contract. It was pretty standard. The healer would attempt no harm on the patient, use no spells of legilimency without consent of the patient, use no mind altering potions or spells without the consent of the patient, would use only protective spells to defend himself if the patient was violent or aggressive, would not disclose the identity of the patient or anything he might reveal in his sessions. That identity and privacy would be kept secret even after the patient ceases to be one.

“How do I add a clause?” he asked.

“You just think what you want,” Voldemort said. “It will appear in the contract, visible only to you, me and your guardian.”

“And apart from the secrecy clause, this contract will not be binding once I cease to be your patient, right?”

“Yes,” Voldemort said. “That is one provision that cannot be altered.”

Harry had expected that. “All right,” he said. He looked at the parchment and thought.

Two new lines appeared in the parchment. _The healer shall not allow any harm to come to the patient from any source. The healer shall attempt no harm on anyone, human or creature or use legilimency or other mind altering spells or potions including truth potions on anyone, human or creature during his stay in Hogwarts._

A small smile appeared on Voldemort’s face. “I accept, Mr. Potter.”

“So, now you both need to sign it, and you can begin at your convenience,” Professor McGonagall said. “Since you’re underage, you have the option to have your sessions supervised if you so choose, either by me or by Sirius.”

“I don’t want that,” Harry said, as he signed the parchment. Voldemort signed the parchment he was holding and both parchments glowed briefly and became one before disappearing.

“It will be available in your vault in Gringotts, should you ever need to access it,” Professor McGonagall said.

“When can we start?” Harry asked Voldemort.

“This afternoon, after lunch?” Voldemort said. “No need to delay, is there?”

Harry couldn’t agree more.


	18. Seventeen

Harry started laughing as soon as he entered Voldemort’s office later that day. Voldemort’s nostrils flared.

“Are you laughing at me, Potter?”

“You have to admit this is funny,” Harry said, in between chuckles. “You pretending to be my mind healer when you’re responsible for everything that has gone wrong in my life.”

Voldemort frowned before waving his wand, casting what was probably a privacy spell. Harry felt a bit foolish. What if anyone had heard?

“How is it I see you as you are but everyone seems okay with you?” he asked, looking at the snakelike face curiously.

Voldemort sat down behind his desk.

“It’s a spell,” he said. “Not as effective as polyjuice since those who know who I am will be able to see me as I am, but to everyone else, I will look different.”

“So, is there a Sean Renstin?”

“He died a few years back, in Albania,” Voldemort said calmly.

Harry breathed hard. “You killed him.”

“I’ve killed a lot of people,” Voldemort said. “Just because I’m working with you and I agree to your conditions doesn’t mean I’ve changed, Potter.”

“I know,” Merlin, he knew.

_Think of Sirius, and Remus and Fred and Dobby._

“So, what are we going to do?” Voldemort asked. “Have you any idea how we are to bring a change in the future?”

“You’re asking me?” Harry asked drily. “I’m fourteen and you’re Lord fucking Voldemort. How am I supposed to know what you don’t?”

Voldemort’s lips thinned, but his voice was steady enough as he answered.

“I don’t know what we are supposed to do, Potter. I was given limited information on what my future would be if I don’t work with you. I don’t know what leads up to it.”

“Fair enough,” Harry muttered, as he looked down.

After all, he was the one who had lived that life. This Voldemort didn’t know anything except that his death lay at the end of it. Except Harry had no idea what to do either. What was he even supposed to change?

“Perhaps,” he said hesitantly, “perhaps we should decide what we want to avoid and go from there?”

“I don’t want to die,” Voldemort said baldly.

“More horcruxes is not the answer to that,” Harry said acerbically. “Also, everyone is supposed to die someday.”

“Well, I don’t want to,” Voldemort said, his brows furrowed in a frown. “How do you know about horcruxes anyway?”

“I’m not telling you,” Harry said. “Not till we figure out a way to go forward.”

“How can we go forward if you won’t give me information?” Voldemort asked, and Harry’s scar gave a particularly powerful twinge.

He rubbed his forehead. “You need to stop losing control and hurting me if we are to work together.”

Voldemort looked livid with fury, but his scar was not hurting any more and Harry counted that a win.

“You need to give me information, Potter,” he grated out.

“I cannot trust you with the information I have,” Harry said. “But based on what I know, I can tell you what you shouldn’t do.”

Voldemort looked like he was ready to pop a vein. Harry had never seen him so angry; he had never seen anyone that angry at him, not even uncle Vernon or Snape.

“What do I have to do to make you trust me?” Voldemort asked finally.

“I’ll have to think about it,” Harry said. “We… we don’t exactly have a history of being amicable.”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. “You make it sound as if we have a history going back more than fourteen years,” he said.

Crap. Harry should have chosen his words more carefully. After all, hadn’t Dumbledore himself stated how brilliant Tom Riddle was?

“Fourteen years may not be that long to you,” Harry retorted, “but it is the entirety of my life.”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed.

“I know you’re lying,” he said. “I don’t need to use legilimency to know that, Potter.”

Harry stayed silent.

“All right,” Voldemort said abruptly. “For now, I will accept what you say, but that doesn’t bring us any closer to a solution. Till I have the same information as you, we wouldn’t be able to work together.”

A fair, objective part of Harry had to admit Voldemort was right. He had no ideas where to start, what to do. Well, except to get the horcrux out of him, but he was under no illusions that Voldemort would be as amenable to it. Besides, how could he tell him? It required a level of trust he didn’t have. But did he need trust? If there was some way to make the healer contract permanent…

Harry’s thoughts stuttered to a halt as the solution came to him. An Unbreakable Oath. That was all he needed. Voldemort could swear an Unbreakable Oath not to hurt anyone including Harry and he could tell him everything, and then they could finally start working on changing things.

“An Unbreakable Oath,” Harry said.

Voldemort stared at him, red eyes narrowing. “What?”

“You can swear an Unbreakable Oath and I’ll tell you everything.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Voldemort hissed. “That oath is binding. If I break it, I die.”

“That’s the idea,” Harry said.

Voldemort snorted. “You think I’ll let a fourteen year old inveigle me into swearing an oath like that? Knowing you, you’ll probably word it so vaguely that I would break it without even meaning to!”

“Hey,” Harry protested. “I’m not that foolish. Besides, you don’t know me.”

“I know enough,” Voldemort said scathingly. “In any case, you’re fourteen, and I see no signs of extraordinary magical talent in you.”

Harry would have loved to remind him that he had disarmed Voldemort, petrified Dorian and stunned Nagini, but he held his tongue. Voldemort wasn’t going to swear that oath, so there was no point in arguing.

“Well, if that’s your attitude, we should end today’s session, don’t you think?” Harry asked. “There’s no point in us sitting here fuming at each other.”

“My diary,” Voldemort said. “Give it to me.”

Harry considered the words. He could give Voldemort the diary, but if he did, it was likely he would never see it again, and if it ever came to the point that he had to destroy it… He drew a deep breath. Was that one of the things they were trying to change? The necessity of destroying the horcruxes?

“Perhaps next session,” Harry said finally.

“Tuesday evening,” Voldemort said. “And you’re supposed to stay the night.”

“I’d rather not.”

“I’d much prefer that, but it might look suspicious if you don’t,” he paused. “What did your guardian say about the additional clauses you added. Didn’t he think them strange?”

Sirius hadn’t said anything. In fact, he hadn’t even known about the clauses which had confirmed Harry’s suspicion that in magic’s eyes at least, he was an adult. The ministry might still have the trace on him, but magic and the ministry were not the same.

“Chalked it down to my usual paranoia,” Harry said flippantly. “So, he won’t really think it odd if I didn’t stay the night for a nightmare watching session.”

“I can still tell you’re lying,” Voldemort said.

Harry grinned as he left.


	19. Eighteen

The time for announcing the Triwizard champions had come, and Harry was waiting eagerly, though he already knew who it was going to be. At least, there would be no surprise announcements this year. If nothing else, he could enjoy the tournament with his friends this year. There would be no fights with Ron this year, and that thought was paramount in his mind as he sat back and enjoyed the proceedings.

The goblet announced Fleur and Krum’s names first. Next the Hogwarts champion and everyone was at the edge of their seats with anticipation.

“Let it be a Gryffindor,” Ron was saying.

“I bet it’s Cedric,” Harry said, laughing at the look of revulsion that appeared on the face of all three Weasley brothers.

The next moment, the goblet had spat out the parchment with the name of the Hogwarts champion and Dumbledore read aloud, “Cedric Diggory.”

The roar of sound from the Hufflepuff table was deafening, and Harry found himself tensing as he stared at the goblet, memory taking over and Dumbledore’s words washed over him, not sinking in. Even though nothing was happening, he remained tense till the fire from the Goblet went out and Filch removed it and put it inside a casket before taking it out of the hall. Tension seeped out of Harry in waves as relief took its place. Even though he knew, he had been so afraid.

“I can’t believe that we got a pretty boy idiot to be Hogwarts champion!” Fred said.

“He isn’t that bad,” Harry said. “I bet he’d win.”

“As much as I want Hogwarts to win,” George said. “There’s no way he’ll beat Krum.”

“This isn’t a Quidditch match,” Harry said. “Believe me, Cedric’s going to win. Perhaps you can have a bet about that.”

“Nothing to bet with,” Fred said gloomily.

“I’ve to go,” Harry said, rising. He had a session with Voldemort. “Be seeing you later.”

“You’re being very mysterious,” Fred said, a speculative look in his eyes.

Harry laughed. “Keep on guessing.”

Harry made his way to Voldemort’s office where the man was waiting. As soon as Harry entered, he cast the privacy charms and pointed to a chair.

“Sit.”

Harry sat.

“What was that infernal noise from the Great Hall?” Voldemort asked.

“The Triwizard champions being announced,” Harry said. “Weren’t you even curious?”

“I’ve better things to do with my time,” Voldemort huffed.

“Sure,” Harry said. “The Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory by the way.”

“Am I supposed to care?”

“Well, if you’re a betting man, you could bet on him and be very rich.” Harry said.

Voldemort gave him a sharp glance. “You seem certain he will win.”

Harry smiled. “I know he will.”

He might have to give Cedric a nudge or two, since in this life there’s no one to clue him in on the dragons or the egg. Perhaps Cho and Cedric would get to be happy together in this life.

“I’m not asking you how you know that,” Voldemort said. “Since I feel certain you won’t tell me.”

Harry laughed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t, just…I’m happy,” he said.

He hadn’t even realised just how much it had weighed on him, the possibility that someone could have messed with the goblet again, that he might have to go through that whole fiasco again. Now that he was safe, it felt as if he could finally breathe without it clogging his airways.

“I don’t even know why you are here, Potter,” Voldemort said. “You and I sitting in the same room isn’t magically going to change anything.”

“You and I sitting in the same room without you trying to kill me is enough magical change, wouldn’t you say?” Harry smiled.

Voldemort shook his head, but said nothing, as he turned to the book he had been reading before Harry had come. It was a large tome, and looked old.

“What is that?” Harry asked, curious.

“Runes,” Voldemort said. “Since I’m wasting my time, I figured I was owed some entertainment at least.”

Harry chuckled as he leaned back in his chair. It was comfortable, the fire was warm, and he was full, and happy.

“You and Hermione might get on well,” he said, stifling a yawn. “She loves books too.”

“Is she your friend?”

“One of my best friends and she’s the best in my year,” he said. “Of course, she’s a muggleborn, so you might not like her much.” Harry gave Voldemort a glance from under his lashes. “She figured out Snape’s riddle, you know. In my first year, with the stone.”

Voldemort looked up, brows furrowed. “Did she now?”

“And Ron beat the chess game,” Harry said. “My other best friend.”

Voldemort looked at him, his gaze sharp and almost hungry.

“So, your friends helped you get to the stone, and yet, you managed to defeat me.”

“It was my mother’s protection,” Harry said, grief coursing through him now.

His mother had sacrificed herself for him and even in death she couldn’t find peace. His parents had to bargain for a second chance for him.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Voldemort said after a moment, and Harry stared at him in surprise, but Voldemort’s attention was back on the book again.

“I brought your diary,” Harry said, pulling it out of his pocket. “Just keeping up my end of our bargain.”

Voldemort’s hand shook as he took it, his red eyes gleamed, and his fingers caressed it almost reverently.

“You aren’t going to tell me how it came into your possession, are you?”

Harry’s scar was burning now, but he was used to worse and he ignored it. “No.”

“And I suppose you’ve no idea what happened to my ring, locket or diadem,” Voldemort’s voice was soft and even.

“Why Tom,” Harry drawled. “I didn’t know you were into jewellery.”

A beat of silence, and Voldemort snapped his book shut, glaring at Harry.

“Don’t call me that!”

“It’s your name,”

“I left it behind!”

“Still your name,”

“You dare laugh at me? You worthless, talentless, brat! Dumbledore’s pawn! You stole my things and you think you can sit there and laugh?”

Harry laughed. Perhaps it was stupid, but he was safe at the moment. He wasn’t used to dealing with Voldemort from a position of power, and he was enjoying that.

“You’re never at a loss, are you?” Harry asked finally. “You’ve a fine vocabulary, I must say.”

Voldemort glared at him.

“Feel free to leave whenever you want, Potter,” he said, before picking up his book and returning his attention to it, studiously avoiding him.

Harry was planning to leave, but he was feeling drained. His scar did not hurt any more, and relief and joy still thrummed through him. He burrowed himself more into the chair, drawing his legs up. It really was cozy here. He yawned again, and his eyes fluttered closed.


	20. Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter sort of came out of nowhere? I hadn't planned on it, not that I had any plans, but in any case, here it is. Enjoy!!

Harry stirred and was aware there was a body next to him, and he didn’t even need to look to know who that was. A pale arm was around him, but from the unnatural stillness of the body next to his, Harry knew Voldemort was awake. It was still night, but the room was not dark, but bathed in a soft diffused light.

“How did I get here?” he asked, still half yawning. Something must be wrong that he couldn’t feel fully awake even now.

“You fell asleep in my room,” Voldemort said, his breath fanning the hairs on the nape of Harry’s neck. “So, I transfigured the chair you were into a bed.”

“But why are you in it with me?” Harry asked.

“You were having nightmares, and I couldn’t wake you,” Voldemort said, “This seemed to help.”

Harry chuckled, unable to help it. Voldemort sounded as pleased with it as Harry was. He turned around. Voldemort was blurry, and Harry was still drowsy. He didn’t want to search for his glasses.

“Perhaps you should have let me have my nightmares.”

Harry was struck by the incongruity of this. There was something intimate in the way they were lying, in their physical proximity, and yet even after agreeing to work together, they hadn’t been able to bury their hatred of one another. Voldemort hated this more than Harry, and if he wasn’t scared out of his mind at the thought of dying if he didn’t work with Harry, he probably would be trying to make another horcrux now.

“I was trying to help,” Voldemort said, sounding a bit offended. “But next time, I won’t interfere.”

“Did you never have nightmares?” Harry asked, because he didn’t want the argument of how there wouldn’t be a next time.

“So long ago they don’t signify.” Voldemort said firmly.

Harry said nothing, merely gazed at Voldemort, trying to reconcile the evil wizard with a man who once had something as mundane as nightmares.

“I can’t read your mind,” Voldemort murmured.

“Good.”

“You haven’t told me anything yet,” Voldemort said, softly.

“When you’re ready to make that unbreakable vow,” Harry said.

“You don’t trust me at all, do you, Potter?”

“Why should I?”

Besides, hadn’t Voldemort himself said this had nothing to do with trust?

“You shouldn’t,” was the unexpected response. “But why do you need a vow? I already can’t harm you.”

“You can still try and hurt the people I care for,” Harry said.

Voldemort could kidnap Sirius for real. If he learned Harry was his horcrux, he wouldn’t hesitate to imprison Harry either. Truth was not something he could trust Voldemort with. Not yet.

“I cannot,” Voldemort said, sounding frustrated. “The healer contract prevents that,”

“That’s only temporary,”

“It needs your consent for breaking,” Voldemort said.

“It will break by itself if I’m not deriving any benefit from it after a year or if I’m already healed.”

Harry wasn’t happy with that clause. He had read up on Muggle therapy, and it seemed sometimes it took a long time to actually start benefitting, but of course wizards would put in a clause of one year. Probably they thought having magic made it different.

Voldemort chuckled, “You actually read it. I’m impressed.”

“So, an unbreakable vow.” Harry said. “It doesn’t have an expiry date.”

“You do know that the other binding magical contract requires that I not cause you harm, physical or emotional.”

What?

“That doesn’t make sense,” Harry said.

They still could say scathing things to each other. What about the way Voldemort had shouted at him? The wizard had to be lying. But was he? It was not as if Harry and Voldemort cared about each other or about the other’s approval, so whatever they said to the other couldn’t really hurt.

“It is true,” Voldemort said.

“Truth and you don’t even go in the same sentence, Tom,” Harry said, closing his eyes wearily. He could feel Voldemort stilling for an instant before he relaxed again.

“Do you think an unbreakable will bind me?”

Harry’s eyes flew open. “Only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

Voldemort’s hand was caressing Harry’s back almost absently. “What is it that you want me to swear to?”

“That you will not kill, kidnap, maim or torture anyone, wizard, creature or muggle and you will not order or compel anyone else to do it either.”

“What about self defence?” Voldemort shifted his hand and it was on Harry’s hip now, drawing lazy circles there.

Harry snorted. “You’re lord fucking Voldemort.” he said. “Are you saying you can’t defend yourself without killing people?”

“It is delightful to see how Slytherin you are at times, Potter,” Voldemort murmured, amusement in his tone. “What else?”

“That you will not let anyone know you’re back till we have solved this,” Harry said.

A long suffering sigh.

“What else?”

“That you will not attempt to control or imprison me in any way or use anyone else to do it for you.”

“Isn’t that implied in the first one?” Voldemort merely sounded curious.

“Perhaps, but I want it spelled out.”

“All right,” Voldemort said softly. “I think I can attempt this.”

Harry’s heart was hammering again. “You mean you agree?”

“I do,” Voldemort said. “But I do have a condition.”

“Which is?”

“I want to see for myself,” Voldemort murmured. “You need to let me in your head, Potter.”

“I won’t keep anything from you,” Harry said, his heart racing even faster than it did in the forest. “I will tell you everything. Isn’t that enough?”

“Oh, but I’m giving you everything you asked for,” Voldemort said, inching closer. “I think it’s only fair that I should derive some _pleasure_ out of this whole ordeal, don’t you? Besides, it’s only one time, and after that vow and the contract, it isn’t possible for me to hurt you.”

“No,” Harry said.

The thought of baring himself to Voldemort, to Voldemort of all people, was horrifying. Voldemort was the architect of all his misery, of the shit show that was his life. All his pain, and vulnerabilities to be revealed to him? When he was not even going to understand them? No! It was impossible!

“Then we have an impasse,” Voldemort said.

Harry bent his head, closing his eyes and he was drawn close to the other wizard.

“Are you hugging me?” Harry demanded, his whole body stiff. The other wizard was warm and Harry could feel his heart beating next to where his head lay and it was disorienting.

_Huh. Voldemort has a heart. Who knew._

There were times he tended to forget that no matter how evil, Voldemort was ultimately human too. It was easy to believe otherwise, with his appearance, but warm blood—Harry’s blood—coursed through his veins, and his heart did pump blood as well.

“What if I won’t look at anything other than what you want to show me?” Voldemort’s voice was soft, his breath fanning Harry’s hair.

“I don’t have that kind of control.”

“I do.”

“I can’t,” Harry whispered.

“Yes, you can,” Voldemort said softly. “You just don’t want to. You have all the power in this, Potter. Is it wrong that I want to wrest a bit of it back to me?”

“My mind is not something for you to feel good about yourself,” Harry said wearily.

“Go back to sleep, then,” Voldemort said. “We can discuss this in the morning.”

Harry made an attempt to get up. “I should get back.”

“It’s past curfew,” Voldemort said. “Your Head of House and your friends have been told you’re staying here as part of the mind healing.”

“Who told them? How do you know my friends?”

“They came looking for you,” Voldemort said. “Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley.” Voldemort’s tone was without any inflection as he spoke the names. “They seemed to understand. So, you see? Nothing to worry about. Stay the night here and tomorrow is Sunday, so you can sleep in, and we can continue our discussion in the morning.”

“No means no,” Harry said, though he had relaxed.

Voldemort chuckled, and Harry’s entire body could feel it.

“And I never take no for an answer, Harry,”

Harry felt his eyes close.

“Bastard,” he slurred. “You put a sleep spell on me,”

He was asleep the next moment.


	21. Twenty

Harry made his escape before Voldemort woke the next morning. Perhaps it was not very Gryffindor of him, but he didn’t want to have another discussion or argument or negotiation. Mainly because he knew he was not being logical. Voldemort was prepared to make the vow, and once that was done, there was nothing to fear. Letting him root around in Harry’s head wasn’t going to be different than telling him everything Harry knew. After all, he was not planning on keeping anything.

But he still was not ready. Even if Voldemort said he wouldn’t look at anything, even if he swore up and down that he wouldn’t, Harry couldn’t trust him to have that sort of control. He knew he didn’t. He didn’t want Voldemort to see his childhood, the Dursleys, neither in his previous life nor in this one. He didn’t want Voldemort to see the graveyard and Cedric. He didn’t want Voldemort to see Sirius falling into the veil, or Fred lying in a demolished Hogwarts corridor or Dobby with a knife sticking out his front or Remus and Tonks laid out next to each other or Colin looking so tiny in death. He didn’t want Voldemort to see Cho or Ginny in his memories. He didn’t want Voldemort to see Prongs getting rid of a thousand dementors, or Ron walking out, or Umbridge and his detentions with her.

_Mine. My memories._

He didn’t want to have to share them. There was a part of him still afraid. Voldemort was older, more powerful, more skilled and more experienced than he was. Harry couldn’t be certain he wouldn’t try and find a way around the vow. His own knowledge was limited. He could ask Sirius or Hermione or even Remus who was living in Sirius’ house now, but what could he tell them? He was sure there would be books on the subject, but they were sure to be in the restricted section. Which teacher could he trust with this? No one would buy that he was looking so deeply into unbreakable vows out of academic interest.

Till he did, till he could be absolutely certain that the vow could not be broken at any cost, he couldn’t take the risk of Voldemort knowing about the soul piece buried inside him. He couldn’t afford to be impulsive about this. The casual way in which Voldemort had asked if he thought an unbreakable oath would bind him was worrisome.

Avoidance was perhaps not the best option, but Harry couldn’t think of anything else. From what he remembered of Voldemort, the wizard had never been a patient man, and Harry needed time.

He told McGonagall he needed some time before he saw Renstin again, and she nodded in understanding, saying it was perfectly normal.

“Sometimes, it can be overwhelming. I’ll talk to Mr. Renstin.”

Harry asked Hermione about unbreakable vows, saying he had heard someone talking about it.

“I haven’t read upon them,” she said, which surprised Harry. He was so used to Hermione knowing everything. “But I can have a look in my books. Why the sudden interest?”

It would be so easy to tell her, to confide in her, but she was fourteen and Harry would trust her with his life, but he couldn’t trust her not to go to Dumbledore or McGonagall with this. Hermione respected authority figures. That was just who she was. She might break it for Harry’s sake, she had done so time and again, but this… this was too much even to ask of her.

He shrugged.

“Well, we had what Professor McGonagall called a binding magical contract, the mind healer and I, so I was wondering how that differed from an unbreakable vow.”

Nothing else could have been more calculated to pique Hermione’s interest, and Harry could only marvel at the Slytherin part of his brain. But at least, he didn’t have to worry his head about the vow because Hermione threw herself into research with an enthusiasm that boggled his mind.

In the meantime, the date for the first task was approaching and Harry had to find a way to let Cedric know it was dragons. He kept avoiding Voldemort, kept his head down in classes, and snuck out one night to confirm that it was indeed dragons. By the time, October turned into November, Harry had learned everything he had to learn about unbreakable vows and binding magical contracts. And his biggest concern was answered. Unbreakable Vows couldn’t be broken. If it was attempted, the person making the vow would die.

_But Voldemort cannot die because of his horcruxes._

It all came down to that in the end. The crux of it all. What would happen if an unbreakable vow was broken by someone who had multiple horcruxes? What if Voldemort only lost his body again? He had a handy little resurrection ritual in his hand now, and it might take a few months, but he would definitely be able to come back. So, what would it actually entail to hold Voldemort? A binding magical contract might do it, but Harry couldn’t just turn around and say he had changed his mind and that he wanted a contract now instead of a vow when he had finally got Voldemort to agree to the vow.

He pushed it to the back of his mind. He would focus on warning Cedric about the dragons and think of this later. He knew he had so little time, but he pushed that to the back of his mind as well.

He split Cedric’s bag the same way he had during his previous life, and told him that the first task was dragons. Cedric stared at him, panic in his eyes and something else, warm and friendly and it hurt to see that. This Cedric and he wouldn’t be unlikely allies, or friends. But this Cedric wouldn’t die either. Harry would make sure of it.

“Thanks,” Cedric said, a tentative smile on his lips. “You didn’t have to warn me.”

“Of course I did,” Harry said. “I mean Karkaroff and Madame Maxine already know, and it is unfair that our champion wouldn’t. After all, we all want Hogwarts to win.”

Cedric smiled more broadly and it struck Harry how very handsome Cedric actually was. His mouth was dry.

“Thank you again,” Cedric said as he departed, and Harry licked his lips as he made his way to his own class.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Had he just checked out Cedric Diggory as he was walking away from him? Merlin, something was seriously wrong with him. He was absent minded during class, trying to figure out where this came from. He had not been interested in blokes during his previous life. He was certain about it. But it seemed that in this life, he was. He had found his eyes straying to Cho pretty often during this life too, so did that mean he like both girls and guys? But he had to stop looking at Cedric and Cho because he knew they were going to get together soon. Besides they were kids and he was an adult, no matter his physical age.

He left the class along with Ron and Hermione, who were both excited about the first task coming up. Neither of them knew what the task was, but Harry joined in their game of speculating what it would be. This time, he would be able to watch the show, and be relaxed. He knew Cedric was going to be all right.

That night he had a dream of the dream where his parents were telling him that none of the deaths that happened in his previous life could be avoided if he didn’t work with Voldemort. He woke with a jolt, his heart hammering. Was Cedric going to die during the tournament because Harry had been too selfish?

The next morning found him yawning through his breakfast and Hermione fixed him with a sharp glance.

“How long since you saw your mind healer?” she asked.

“I need some time,” he said.

“Harry, I’m not saying you shouldn’t,” she said. “But if you aren’t sleeping well, perhaps you need to see him.”

Harry wished he could just tell her the truth. “I’ll wait till the first Triwizard task is done,” he said.

“Drop it, Hermione,” Ron said. “Harry can see him when he’s ready.”

She harrumphed, but didn’t argue. As they walked to the class, Harry asked Hermione, his voice lowered.

“Do you actually know why breaking an unbreakable vow kills someone?”

She frowned.

“None of the books explain why, but one of them had a strange statement.”

“Oh?”

“It said even a wizard with a horcrux can be killed by this,” a frown was there between her brows. “But I couldn’t understand it, because there is nothing anywhere about horcruxes. I don’t know what they are.”

She seemed deeply offended by the fact. Harry could have told her, but then he would need to explain how he knew, and he knew that this was something he couldn’t expect Sirius to cover for him. Would there be any books in the Blacks’ library about horcruxes or about unbreakable vows? Harry wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. Harry knew he could go to Grimmauld Place without Sirius if he so wished, and it wasn’t likely that Kreacher would tell Sirius anything, because he didn’t care for Sirius. But it wasn’t a chance he wanted to take. Besides, what more did he need? If Voldemort made the vow, it would bind him, horcrux or not.

“I think I’ll see Sean this evening,” Harry said.


	22. Twenty One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter this time, hopefully will get you all a new one before next friday. Keep the love flowing!!

Voldemort looked at him with narrowed eyes and a displeased frown.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said.

“Yeah,” Harry muttered. “Sorry.”

“How are we supposed to work together if you avoid me?” Voldemort asked. “We don’t have all the time in the world, you know.”

“If I… if I agree to let you into my head, will you swear the unbreakable oath?” Harry asked.

Voldemort stared at him.

“It cannot be done in the castle,” he said. “There aren’t enough privacy spells that would keep this a secret from Dumbledore. It is far too powerful a spell.”

“I know a place,” Harry said.

“We will need a bonder,” Voldemort said.

“Dorian can do it,” Harry said. “He already knows you’re you.”

Voldemort nodded. “All right. Do you want to do it now?”

Harry nodded too. He wanted it done, and over with.

“All right,” Voldemort said again. “We’ll go get Dorian and go to this place of yours.”

Harry could feel the intense curiosity radiating off the other man. Their connection remained firmly closed, but he didn’t need it.

_Well, Voldemort will now know how I got his diadem._

Dorian looked surprised to see them.

“My lord,” he said, obviously flustered.

“I have need of your services,” Voldemort said. “Potter wishes me to make an unbreakable vow. I need you to be our bonder.”

“A spell that powerful will attract Dumbledore’s attention,” Dorian said.

“Potter here says he knows of a place where we can do it without anyone knowing,” Voldemort said.

Dorian nodded. “I’m at your service, my lord,”

“Lead the way, Potter,” Voldemort said.

Harry heard Voldemort’s quick intake of breath as they reached the seventh floor corridor, but he wasn’t concerned with that.

_I need a place for us to make an unbreakable vow without anyone finding out._

He pushed open the door as he had done countless numbers of times in his previous life and this. It was a small room, with torches burning in brackets on the wall. There was a low table with two chairs on either side.

“Convenient,” Voldemort said, but Harry could hear the fascination in his voice. “What is this place?”

“Not telling you,” Harry said.

Somehow, he had a feeling that Voldemort didn’t know how the room worked and he was certainly not letting Dorian know of it. Tom Riddle had used the room to hide the diadem, but he had probably thought it was a place to hide things in. But Harry also had no doubt that Voldemort would be able to figure it out.

“Have you ever made an unbreakable vow, Potter?” Dorian asked.

“No,” Harry said.

Voldemort sat down on one of the chairs and Dorian indicated Harry should take the other one. He directed Harry to place his elbow on the table and as Voldemort’s hand clasped his, Harry was suddenly reminded of a muggle arm wrestling match. He suppressed a smile. Voldemort was staring at him and Harry’s scar gave a sharp twinge. His hand twitched within Voldemort’s.

“Now, you need to say what you want him to swear to,” Dorian said. “You have to frame it as a question which can be answered I do or yes.”

Harry was reminded of the muggle marriage vows and this time couldn’t stop the snort.

“Sorry,” he said, the racing of his heart slowing slightly.

He drew a deep breath. “Do you swear never to kill, maim, kidnap or torture anyone, wizard, creature or muggle or order or request or compel anyone else to do it?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear not to let anyone know you’re back till we’ve accomplished the task we’ve been set?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear that you would not seek to control or manipulate me or kidnap me or do anything to my mind against my will?”

His scar burned. “I do.”

Harry hardly noticed the flames enveloping their joined hands, as he stared at Voldemort.

“It is done,” Dorian said, his voice neutral, and the flames disappeared. Harry snatched his hand away.

“We should go back,” he said, feeling jittery.

“I agree,” Voldemort said.

Dorian had a speculative look on his face as he looked at Harry.


	23. Twenty Two

They reached Voldemort’s office, and Harry sank on to a chair, dreading what was coming.

“Leave us, Dorian,” Voldemort said.

Harry’s heart was thrumming in his chest and his breath was stuttering. His mouth was dry and he stared away from the red eyes.

“I did what you wanted, Potter,” Voldemort said, approaching him. “It’s time you lived up to your end of the bargain.”

_Why am I the one called upon to make all these sacrifices?_

But Harry knew this had to be done. No matter how distasteful he found it, it was necessary.

“Come on, Potter,” Voldemort whispered, bending down. “You were brave enough to walk to your death. You can do this.”

Harry turned his head, and met Voldemort’s eyes.

“Do it,” his voice came out in a croak.

“Any conditions?” Voldemort asked. “Anything you don’t want me to look at?”

Harry swallowed. He didn’t want Voldemort to see anything, but that seemed impossible now.

“No,” his voice came out strangled.

Voldemort raised his wand, his expression gentle.

“It won’t hurt. Don’t fight it.”

Harry’s eyes were burning, blood roaring in his ears, and he hardly heard Voldemort’s muttered spell. Memories flooded him, Voldemort and the room disappeared and he was in the cupboard under the stairs again, Dudley and his friends were chasing him across the schoolyard, Ripper was chasing him up a tree, a hundred Dementors were approaching Sirius and him, his mother was screaming, Sirius was falling into the veil, Dumbledore was falling from the tower, Remus and Tonks lay next to each other, Dobby was toppling with a knife protruding from his chest, the locket was strangling him as it dragged him underwater, a dragon was chasing him, Cedric was falling dead, Harry was dueling Voldemort, he and Hermione were jumping out a window with a snake after them, brains had their tentacles around Ron, Fred was lying dead, Hedwig was hit by a bolt of green light, Umbridge was forcing him to carve words into his own skin, Neville was stumbling forward through a portrait hole, Snape was bleeding to death, Harry was kissing Ginny, Prongs was bending his head to him, Ron was ripping the locket from his neck and leaving the tent. Harry was once again walking through that forest to meet an end that seemed inevitable.

Memories not his flooded into his brain. He saw Tom Riddle, pale and thin and starved, as he lay shivering under a threadbare blanket, he saw bombs falling and Riddle sitting against a wall, staring up, his wand clutched in his hand, unable to sleep in an underground bunker as the muggle war devastated London, he saw the fierce happiness of learning he was a wizard, he saw the child being bullied, and beaten, but Tom Riddle gave as good as he got. He saw his fear when Dumbledore caused the wardrobe to catch fire, he saw the wariness, he saw the boy in Slytherin, being bullied by the purebloods and holding his own. He saw the use of parseltongue for the first time, and the Slytherin purebloods approaching him cautiously, but with wide smiles, their reluctant acceptance of this strange boy whose antecedents they didn’t know, he saw his desperate search to find his father, and finally finding his connection to Slytherin, to the Gaunts, the pride and the joy and then back to the orphanage every summer where he was taunted and bullied and isolated, blamed for everything that went wrong, and the hatred that filled him, the contempt and the arrogance.

It all ended as suddenly as it had begun and Harry gasped aloud. He was still sitting where he was, and Voldemort was sitting near him, their foreheads touching, Voldemort’s hands cupping Harry’s face and Harry’s hands on top of the other wizard’s. Harry knew his eyes were wet as they met the red eyes of the man he had hated from the time he had ever learned his name.

“Why did you do that?” Harry asked, ignoring his thumping heart and wet eyes and the fingers that were brushing away the tears that were on his cheeks.

“It seemed fair,” Voldemort’s voice was barely audible, his breath ghosting across Harry’s face, and Harry swallowed.

It was more consideration than he had expected. He had been so sure Voldemort would only seek ammunition in his memories. He hadn’t even dreamed he would be given the most vulnerable moments of his enemy. It was a gift and an apology, and Harry was beginning to understand why Voldemort hated his real name. Tom Riddle was the child who was bullied and beaten, the child whom Dumbledore had been able to frighten, the child who had had to fight for acceptance within his own house, the child who had been terrified of a destructive muggle war. Was it surprising that Voldemort wanted to distance himself from him?

His heart was still racing. Voldemort now knew Harry was a horcrux. He knew what Harry had been planning to do in his last life.

“Now you know,” he said finally.

Voldemort lifted his head and his eyes moved to Harry’s scar even as his finger moved across it.

“Now I know.” his finger traced the scar. “It shouldn’t have happened,” he murmured. “Horcruxes aren’t so easily created.”

“It did happen,” Harry whispered, but he rose and stepped away.

It was suffocating to be so near to Voldemort. Harry needed room to breathe and Voldemort didn’t try to stop him as he put a few feet between them.

“So, what is the plan now?” Voldemort asked. “The oath is done, I know what happened. How are we supposed to avert it, before the timeline resets?”

“It would be nice if I could get rid of this piece of your soul without having to die,” Harry said.

Voldemort’s lips thinned.

“Why do you want to get rid of it? You made me swear an oath. I cannot hurt anyone. The necessity of your having to stop me has effectively ended with that. There won’t be a war.”

Harry sighed. What could he say? He had cherished that connection, though he would never say it out loud, but Voldemort had been in his head and he _knew_.

“I just want it gone,” he said finally. “We’re doing things differently, remember?”

Voldemort nodded.

“Hogwarts has many many books on horcruxes,” he said. “I found almost all information I needed from within them. There may be something in them, but I doubt it… this is… this is unprecedented, Potter. But the books are a good starting point.”

Harry was strongly reminded of Hermione again. _Can’t find answers? Go look in a book_ was the mantra by which she lived, and it was amusing to see Voldemort was the same.

“Dumbledore has them,” Harry muttered. “At least he did in my previous life.”

“Because of the diary and because of what happened in the graveyard,” Voldemort said. “Neither of which happened this time. So, he has no reason to go looking for horcruxes this time.”

“Even then, they’re likely to be in the Restricted section,” Harry said. “And no teachers are going to give me a note for those books.”

“I can arrange for that,” Voldemort murmured.

“Dorian, you mean? He’s not stupid, and he would put two and two together if he has to give me permission to check out books on horcruxes.”

“Who’s your least favourite teacher?” Voldemort asked.

“You are not harming any teachers,” Harry said.

“Not even Trelawney?” Voldemort asked, a teasing tone to his voice.

Harry was startled, but he shook his head.

“Not even her.” he eyed Voldemort suspiciously. “Why do you even want to get rid of my teachers?”

“Not get rid of,” Voldemort said. “Just temporarily get rid of.”

“That is getting rid of,” Harry rolled his eyes. “But you don’t have to do anything. The DADA position will be open by the end of the year. You jinxed it, remember?”

They didn’t have that much time, but Harry wasn’t reminding Voldemort of that. Not yet anyway.

“Ah,” Voldemort murmured. “I wondered when that would come up.”

Harry looked at him suspiciously. “Are you saying you didn’t jinx it?”

“Come on, Potter. Use your brains. Something isn’t automatically true just because Dumbledore says it. Honestly, you believe that Hogwarts hadn’t had a steady DADA teacher for what? Close to forty years? How is it that every teacher in that period left after a year? Are there that many people competent enough to teach the subject in Britain? All of them ready to take on a position said to be jinxed? How is the school still open, how do students pass their OWLs and NEWTs?”

Harry opened his mouth, but closed it again. He hated that Voldemort’s words made sense. But he had no way of verifying his words. Besides, if the job had been jinxed for almost forty years, there was no way they would have been able to keep on finding competent teachers all the time, till Harry came to Hogwarts.

“You mean whatever jinx started after I started Hogwarts?” he asked.

“Quirinus died betraying his job,” Voldemort said after a beat. “Such actions have… consequences… if there’s a jinx, it wasn’t placed by me.”

Harry drew a deep breath and let it out. It should have disgusted him, the clinical way in which Voldemort had spoken of Quirrel after everything Quirrel had done for him, but at least Voldemort never pretended to care for anyone. Hadn’t Dumbledore completely dismissed Snape with a “Poor Severus”? He was supposed to be the good guy. The one who cared for people.

In the end, for wizards like Dumbledore and Voldemort, people were just weapons, a means to an end. That Dumbledore’s ends were nobler didn’t make the man any better than Voldemort. The Greater Good didn’t automatically make its proponent a saint. 

“Dorian would give you access to the books,” Voldemort said after a moment. “If you should wish it. He will sign it even if it’s blank. That should take care of your earlier issue.”

“That should work,” Harry said grudgingly. “But should we trust him so much?”

“That should have been my line,” Voldemort said softly.

“Yeah, well, I’m done trusting people blindly.”

Voldemort said nothing, but looked at him with a curious look on his face.

“What?” Harry asked.

“An unbreakable oath and a binding magical contract and yet you don’t trust me,” Voldemort said softly. “Very well. You’re right that I do not wish Dorian involved any more than he needs to be. But we don’t have time. Even if we want, we cannot wait for the school year to end so I can simply step in as your new DADA teacher.”

“Even if we had time, I don’t think you could do that,” Harry chuckled. “Dumbledore might not hire you, you know.“

“Dumbledore was fooled by one of mine masquerading as one of his closest associates. I don’t think he will be able to penetrate any disguise I may choose.”

“Mad eye is known for drinking from his hip flask,” Harry said. “You don’t have the same excuse. The potion wears off in an hour. Unless you’re planning to use this spell.”

“Potter, leave the technicalities to me, all right?”

Harry laughed.

“Let me get this straight,” Harry said after a moment. “You want to be in Hogwarts as a teacher so you can what? Allow me access to books on horcruxes in the Restricted Section?”

“Also, to be near you,” Voldemort said. “We cannot be working together when you’re in Hogwarts and I’m in hiding.”

“Well, it would have been nice if we had that much time,” Harry muttered. “But we don’t. So, yeah, we can use Dorian, I guess. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“You’re still worried.”

“Constitutional defect,” Harry said, sighing.

“Harry,” Voldemort said. “Leave the worrying to me, all right? Dorian won’t be a problem, I promise.”

Harry was stunned into silence. Never, not once in either of his lives had someone told him something like that. Not right out like Voldemort had. It should have made him angry, should have felt like the other wizard was treating him like a child, but not when he was speaking in that tone, exasperated and soothing both at the same time.

“You all right, Potter?”

“I need to be getting back,” he said, not meeting Voldemort’s eyes.

Voldemort nodded.


	24. Twenty Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It had been a hectic week, and I was in home quarantine following a Covid scare (Long story, someone at work tested positive and I was one of her contacts), but my test was negative, and today my sister's test also came out negative, so big relief. This chapter is a happy one because of all that. My mental health was about as bad as it could have been this entire week. Keeping my fingers crossed that next week would be better. Enjoy the story. Thank you all once again for all the kind words about it.

This time, the start of the first task didn’t see Harry reduced to a quivering bundle of nerves. He was in the audience this time, sitting with Ron and Hermione, and waving Hogwarts flags and sporting Hufflepuff colours. Except for the Slytherins, the entire school had taken to wearing Hufflepuff colours to show their support of the Hogwarts champion. This time, there were no “Potter Stinks” badges, and Harry could finally relax and watch the three champions get through the task.

Though he had heard what had happened the last time, seeing it was different. Krum hit the dragon with a conjuctivitis curse. The dragon’s roar was ear splitting, and it thrashed about in pain, the tail whipping close to the wizard. Harry held his breath as Krum dodged the thrashing beast and took the egg. The dragon took a step and trampled on its own egg, still screaming in pain. Harry tuned out Bagman’s commentary as he focussed on what was happening.

“He’s really brave, isn’t he?” Hermione asked, jumping up and down.

“It’s Krum,” Ron said, as if that explained it all.

The scores came on. Only Karkaroff gave a 10. The other’s scores ranged from 7 to 9.

“Come on,” Ron whined. “He deserved more.”

“He caused the dragon to destroy its own eggs,” Harry said. “I guess that’s not allowed.”

Next was Fleur and Harry felt his heart speed up. In his last life she had been safe and had got the egg, but knowing that didn’t make him easy. She had come to mean as much as the rest of the Weasleys to him, and he was as worried as if it were one of them standing there, facing a dragon more than fifty times her size.

 _Perhaps not if it is Charlie_.

After all, Charlie knew how to deal with dragons.

But this wasn’t Charlie. This was Fleur. She cast a spell on the dragon and it went still. It was as if it was in some kind of a trance and it started to snore softly. Fleur made it over to the eggs, and Harry could see she was shaking. Just as she reached the egg, the dragon turned its head and a jet of flames was shot at her. She jumped out of the way, but her skirt caught fire. She directed her wand at it and a jet of water shot out of it. The dragon still seemed to be out of it, but this time she walked around it, to avoid its head. Finally, she had the egg and the stadium erupted in cheers.

The scores were again displayed. Her scores were lower than Krum’s. Karkaroff gave her a four. That seemed to be his favourite score to give to people who weren’t from Durmstrang. Madame Maxine awarded a 9. Fairer than Karkaroff, but not by much.

“Next is the Hogwarts champion, Cedric Diggory!”

Bagman’s booming voice was drowned out in the burst of applause that reverberated across the stadium. Harry winced. Loud noises didn’t agree with him, but he joined in the applause, clapping till his palms felt tender.

Cedric looked nervous, but determined. He pointed his wand at a rock and it turned into a dog. The Labrador barked at the dragon, and nipped at its feet. The dragon moved its head, its eyes following the dog and it shot flames which the dog jumped away from with a whine, its tail between its legs. Cedric had been inching closer to the dragon all the while. The dog slunk away, and the dragon suddenly turned to Cedric who made a desperate lunge and rolled under the dragon, the golden egg clasped in his hands, but not before the dragon’s fire grazed the side of his face.

Harry was on his feet with the rest of the stadium, jumping up and down and shouting himself hoarse. His palms felt raw, but he didn’t care. He could be a fourteen year old today. Enjoy this day, be with his friends.

“That was dangerous,” Hermione squealed. “But exciting!”

“Yea,” Ron shouted. “Hogwarts for the win!”

“They’ll be putting up the scores soon!” Harry said, his eyes trained on where the judges were. Cedric got better scores than Fleur, but not as much as Krum, both Karkaroff and Madame Maxine not even bothering to pretend to be fair in their scoring.

“It was so exciting, wasn’t it?” Hermione asked again. “I’m so glad they changed the rules. I mean, how could someone underage have dealt with it?”

“I would have flown,” Harry said, unable to help it. “Summoned my broom and flown so the dragon would follow me and then, bam! Fly down and get the egg. A thing that size wouldn’t be able to move as fast as I can on my firebolt.”

“If it was that easy, why did neither Krum nor Cedric think of it?” Hermione asked with an air of superiority. “They’re both good at Quidditch too, aren’t they?”

It stung, but still was not worth an argument, and Harry let go of it. Instead he shrugged.

“Not everyone thinks of things the same way,” he said.

Hermione opened her mouth, but snapped it shut.

“That’s surprisingly insightful,” she said, and just for a moment, Harry could see _his_ Hermione.

_She’s still my Hermione, only younger and have been through less because I changed things. Doesn’t mean she wouldn’t give her life for me this time around either._

He averted his eyes from hers, because he didn’t want to look at her and see her adult counterpart, the one who had stuck with him through thick and thin, the one who had broken wizarding laws, and risked life and limb, who was tortured by Bellatrix…

_None of that will happen in this life._

Harry was going to make sure of that.

“I have to go see Sean after lunch,” he said.

“Is it helping?” Hermione asked after a moment.

“It’s only been a short while,” Harry said. “Is it supposed to help that quickly?”

“Not unless magic is involved, and I’m assuming you haven’t permitted it,” she said.

“I’d rather do this the muggle way,” he said.

“You can drop him and find someone else if it isn’t helping,” Ron said.

“I think I’ll stick to this one for now. I mean, he’s okay.”

“He’s supposed to help you,” Ron said. “Not just be okay.”

Lunch was a boisterous affair with the whole school talking about Cedric. Harry was only too happy to blend into the background. Even now, he couldn’t believe he had escaped this. There was also something else there, a grief for who he had been, and he was glad he would get to stay away from his friends for a bit, because right now he wanted to both think and yet not.

“You’re not easy to follow,” Fred said, leaning closer to Harry and Harry felt a bucket of ice drop into his stomach.

“You’ve been following me?”

He hadn’t noticed anyone. How had he not noticed?

“As I said once before, you’re being mysterious. We know where you’re going, but we don’t know what’s going on.”

“You don’t want to,” Harry said, his brain working furiously to come up with something. He could just tell them the truth and he had no doubt that they would keep it a secret. But he didn’t want anyone to know he needed a mind healer. Ron and Hermione were the only ones he was comfortable telling. “It’s Snape.”

Fred reared back. “Snape?”

Harry leaned closer and whispered. “I’m having remedial potions, but don’t tell anyone.”

“I wouldn’t want anyone knowing either,” Fred said, winking at him. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

It wasn’t reassuring, but it was done. He gave a surreptitious glance at the Ravenclaw table as he had been doing for a few years now. Seeing Luna always soothed something within him. It hadn’t been easy to see around the Hufflepuffs, but was particularly difficult today when the yellow and black table was celebrating, and yet he caught sight of her, sitting so serenely, concentrating on her food and looking around with curiosity and wonder still.

_I wish I had her courage._

Today, he just wanted to hide.

Voldemort’s brows creased in a frown as he saw Harry.

“Are we supposed to have a session now?”

“I just needed to be away from it all,” Harry waved a hand in the vague direction of the Great Hall

Voldemort said nothing, but stared at him before nodding. “Take a seat, Potter. Do you know how to read runes?”

Harry shook his head. “I didn’t take Ancient Runes.”

Voldemort looked surprised. “You got a second chance and you again chose Divination?”

Harry shrugged. “It didn’t seem important,” he said finally. “I wasn’t sure how much things would change, and… I don’t know, I just…”

“Very eloquent,” Voldemort said. “All right, if we’re going to do this, you need to study runes. Many of the books we need are in runes and you need to be able to read them.”

Harry stared at him. “You’re going to teach me runes?”

Voldemort shrugged. “Might as well do something productive with the time we have,” he said. “Since you have effectively leg shackled me to you.”

Harry looked up, surprise at the slight hint of bitterness at his tone, though Voldemort’s face was its smooth impassive mask.

“As long as there isn’t any homework,” Harry said because how was he supposed to answer the other one?

“Don’t count on it,” Voldemort said, the ghost of a smile on his lips and Harry found an answering smile tug his mouth.

But he was disturbed nonetheless by what Voldemort had said earlier. It was true too. By having Voldemort swear to keep his resurrection a secret, Harry had left him with literally nothing.

_It is only temporary._

Once he and Voldemort had changed the timeline, Voldemort was free to tell everyone. Otherwise, the timeline was going to reset and Voldemort was going to die, and neither of them was going to care about this time.

Would they even remember? He wished he could have asked his parents that.


	25. Twenty Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter. Work and life has been hectic and as it gets close to November, my mental health has started fluctuating. This November will mark the first anniversary of my son's demise, and I'm frankly surprised I'm still here and writing. Thank you all for being so supportive of this fic. It has meant a lot to me.

“Are you all right?” Ron asked as he watched Harry shovel down his breakfast at a speed that he himself had not known he was capable of. “You do know we don’t have class for a while yet, don’t you?”

“I need to see Snape before class.”

Ron stared at him. “Why Snape?” he asked, looking horrified.

Harry lowered his voice. “I told Fred I was having remedial potions when he was so curious about my sessions with Sean.”

“And you expect Snape to back you up? Snape?” Ron asked. “Did Renstin give you, I don’t know, some potion or something?”

“No,” Harry muttered, “I mean, Fred may not tell anyone, but if any of the Slytherins find out… I have to tell Snape at least.”

It was something he wouldn't have dared in his last life, and even now he wasn’t sure. Wasn’t it pathetic that he was so nervous about Snape even after knowing that the man would never hurt him, but would in fact, give his very life to protect him? Harry had a feeling that Snape probably would have kidnapped and restrained him forcibly if he had been able to in his past life. Of course he had no way to test his theory, but Harry felt certain that Snape wouldn’t have shown him that last memory if he hadn’t been dying.

_I’m a Gryffindor. I walked to my death. I let Voldemort into my head._

Why was it so difficult to go and see Snape?

Guilt was only part of it. Snape had been horrible to him in his past life and things weren’t much different this time, but the fact was Snape had been manipulated as much as Harry by Dumbledore, and yet Harry had done nothing to warn the man.

_I can’t save everyone. Besides it isn’t as if he would even believe me._

But he hadn’t even made an attempt. Snape might hate Harry because of his father, but Harry was not his father and he was not Snape, and as much as he hated it, Hermione had been right when she had said he had a saving people thing. Even if it was Snape, even if it was Voldemort.

_I’m not trying to save Voldemort._

But he was, no matter in what terms he might couch it. In his attempts to save everyone from Voldemort, he was attempting to save Voldemort as well. What did it matter anyway? He would be saving Snape as well if he succeeded.

Save him to be manipulated by Dumbledore for the rest of his life? No matter what, Snape deserved better than that. But there was no way to avoid that unless Harry were to tell him the truth. But would even that convince the man? What if he went to Dumbledore with it? Harry deflated inwardly. He wished Snape had moved on from his mother, just so he could escape Dumbledore and his machinations.

He knocked at Snape’s office door, his mouth dry and heart hammering. The door opened and Snape seemed taken aback for an instant.

“What do you need, Potter?”

“Fred got curious about my sessions with the mind healer and I told him I was doing remedial potions with you, sir.”

The words came out too quickly, but Harry could see they were understood from the slight widening of Snape’s eyes and the thinning lips.

“Do you honestly think one of your friends are going to come and ask me if it this story is true?” Snape’s lips curled in contempt.

“If word got around somehow, there may be people who may ask you, sir,” Harry said.

He never forgot to add the sir these days whenever he had to address Snape. He didn’t want the man to think him as arrogant as his dad, too arrogant even to respect a teacher.

Snape rolled his eyes. “If they ask, I shall not betray you,” he said.

“Thank you, sir.” Harry said, but he couldn’t leave.

“Is there anything else?” Snape asked.

“Can we talk in private?” Harry asked after a moment, fidgeting slightly. It was so hard to stand there and talk and yet avoid the man’s eyes. “Sir?”

Snape stepped out of the way, allowing Harry to enter before closing the door.

“Make it quick, Potter. I have classes soon, and so have you.”

Now that he was here, Harry was regretting his impulse. What could he possibly tell Snape? He decided to wing it.

“Sirius told me you and my mom were friends,” he blurted out. He would need to talk to Sirius as soon as he left Snape’s office. “He… he talks often of my dad, but he doesn’t know much about my mom, you see.”

Snape stared at him, and Harry could feel the fury radiating off the man.

“Are you,” Snape’s voice was low and throbbing with fury, “honestly expecting me to regale you with tales of your mother as a child?”

“There’s no one else I can ask,” Harry said. “My aunt… she called her a freak, you see. I didn’t think I could ask her.”

“And I called your mother a mudblood,” Snape said. “Are you sure you want to know more?”

Harry felt a tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with the man in front of him. Snape had obviously never forgiven himself for that slip. Harry wished he could just tell the man the whole truth. But it was evident Snape had no intention of ever discussing Lily with him. Even though it had only been a ruse, he was certain that Snape could have told him more about his mom that wasn’t there in the memories he had been given.

“I see,” he said at last. “I thought… sorry for wasting your time, sir.”

He turned around and walked out of the office, hand going to the pouch to take out the two way mirror as he all but ran from Snape’s office. He would have to tell Sirius what he had said, and make up some story about how he found out Snape and his mom were friends. He could claim aunt Petunia had mentioned Snape, but that he hadn’t wanted to mention her to Snape. Sirius would understand.


	26. Twenty Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life continues to be dismal, and work continues to be hectic. Lots of personal issues on top, and overall, I feel like everything's just spiralling. This fic is giving me a reason to smile, though. Hope you all enjoy this chapter. I loved writing it.

As Christmas rolled around, Harry found himself getting more and more immersed in his study of runes. No wonder Hermione had been so enamoured of this. Voldemort was a surprisingly good teacher, though as impatient as Snape. Still he was making an attempt and Harry couldn’t but appreciate it.

Christmas was when Cedric and Cho got together the last time, and Harry was hoping it would happen the same way this time too. He could hope that Fleur and Bill would find their way to each other too, but he still wasn’t too sure about Remus and Tonks. Without Voldemort, there was no need for the Order to convene and that was how Remus and Tonks had met the last time.

“Tell me about your family,” Harry said to Sirius the next time they were talking. “The Blacks.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “I’ve told you about them.”

“I heard that Bellatrix Lestrange is a Black.” Harry said.

Sirius frowned. “Who has been telling you about that crazy bitch now?”

It was one thing about Sirius that Harry loved. He didn’t feel the need to moderate his language in Harry’s presence. He no longer treated Harry like he was James—or at least Harry hoped he wasn’t doing that—but that didn’t mean he coddled Harry too much either.

“Just tell me,” Harry said.

Sirius sighed. “Yea, she’s my cousin, and as crazy as the rest of the Blacks are.”

“Malfoy’s mum is a Black, isn’t she?”

“Have you been going through genealogy books?” Sirius demanded.

Harry chuckled.

“What if I have been? I was curious. Also, who is Andromeda and why does no one talk about her?”

“She’s my favourite cousin,” Sirius said. “Married a muggleborn, so the family disowned her, but,” he shrugged. “I used to be a frequent visitor to her home before… well, before Azkaban.” He paused, looking haunted. “I haven’t even thought of her in years. Her daughter must be an adult now.”

“Why don’t you invite them for Christmas dinner?” Harry asked. “I mean, I would be staying here, and it’s only you and Remus. You could use some company, and they’re your family.”

Harry gave himself an inward wry smile. He would have made Slytherin proud.

“How is Remus by the way?”

“Not good,” Sirius sighed. “Some stupid ministry official pushed a bill through that has made him virtually unemployable. But yeah, you’re right. I could reach out to Andromeda. It might cheer Moony up.”

“How are you dealing with the full moons?” Harry asked, frowning.

“Snape,” Sirius said, and it threw Harry for a loop. “I asked Dumbledore for help. I’ve never been great at potions, not like your mum was, and he asked Snape.”

Sirius didn’t sound happy about it.

“I know you don’t like Snape, but at least he’s helping,” Harry said.

“He’s doing it because Dumbledore asked him,” Sirius said drily. “Not happy about it at all.”

Harry remembered the pensieve memories he had seen, of Snape attempting to protect Remus from a death eater and his curse hitting George instead… Whatever Snape’s faults, the man was dedicated. After all, he didn’t even have to want to protect Remus in that situation. But there was no way he could bring Sirius to see that.

“At least you’re getting the potion,” Harry said. “I mean, I don’t have to worry about you getting bitten.”

“You and me both,” Sirius said with his bark of a laugh. “Wish I were coming to Hogwarts though for Christmas.”

“Not unless you’re bringing Remus as well,” Harry said. “And I’m not sure he’ll appreciate it this year.”

“I know,” Sirius sighed. “Well, how’s the sessions with the mind healer going?”

“We’re talking,” Harry said.

“And it’s helping?”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah.”

“You don’t seem too sure.”

“How am I supposed to be able to tell if it’s helping or not?” Harry asked.

“Fair point,” Sirius conceded. “But you do sound better, so may be it is. How do you like your sessions?”

What could he say? He was enjoying learning ancient runes as long as he could forget that it was Voldemort who was teaching him.

“They’re okay,” he said finally. “He’s friendly,”

Harry suppressed the laughter that threatened to burst out. To call the psychopath who had murdered his parents and who had been trying to kill him since he was a baby as friendly was too much for his brain to handle.

“Good,” Sirius said. “I wish there wasn’t a necessity for you to see a mind healer.”

“Not your fault,” Harry said.

“If I hadn’t gone after Peter, I could have been there for you,” Sirius said. “There would have been no need for you to go to your aunt at all.”

Harry didn’t think Dumbledore would have allowed that. Even if he hadn’t gone after Peter, Sirius might still have ended up in Azkaban. After all, everyone had believed he had betrayed his best friend and his family. Even Remus had thought it of Sirius, though perhaps it wasn’t so surprising. The Blacks were a family of dark wizards after all, and Sirius had betrayed Remus’ trust when he had played that prank on Snape in their school days. It was a combination of circumstances, but together they were damning.

“We can’t change what happened,” Harry said, again suppressing a snort of laughter.

Wasn’t that exactly what he was trying to do? Again rose in him the wish that he could just tell Sirius the whole truth, but how could he tell him, especially since Sirius was going to die if he didn’t change things? It was bad enough that the fear lay on his heart every moment; he didn’t want Sirius to feel it too.

Harry looked outside. Was Cedric still in the castle? He hoped he was. He could tell him the egg’s clue, but how to bring it up? It was going to look suspicious if he couldn’t find a way to tell him naturally. Perhaps he could offer to help? But why would Cedric take the help of a younger student? Harry bit his lip. Without fake Moody around, it was going to be hard, but he was sure he would come up with something. After all, it was only nearing Christmas. They had time up to February, and Cedric was a seventh year. He wouldn’t need to steal gillyweed from Snape’s stores, though Harry wished they had found the bubblehead charm when they were looking for ways to breathe underwater. It would have been so much easier.

When had things ever been easy for him?


	27. Twenty Six

“This will take forever!” Harry shut the book on Runes shut and glared at Voldemort.

Voldemort raised his eyes heavenward. It would have been comical if it was anyone else, but Harry was not amused. As interesting as the runes were, was this what they were supposed to do?

“You have to be patient, Potter,” Voldemort said, a pinched look on his face.

“We’re not doing anything,” Harry said. “We’re not changing anything. What if Cedric dies? What if Sirius-” He couldn’t bring himself to even say it. He had lived through it once. He couldn’t do it again. It would kill him if he were to lose his godfather again.

“Potter,” Voldemort said quietly. “You have rendered me harmless. What more do you want in terms of change?”

Harry stared at Voldemort, stunned into silence. “It can’t be that simple,” he said finally. It seemed too easy, and things were never easy for him.

“Sometimes things are that simple,” Voldemort said, an almost sneer on his face. “Don’t think this is easy for me, Potter, for all my appearance of equanimity. This is _not_ who I am.”

“Well, it’s not easy for me either!” Harry snapped. “You think I enjoy working with you? You killed my parents! If not for you, I would never have needed to go to the Dursleys! Sirius would never have gone to Azkaban! I wouldn’t have been a marked man!” He dropped the book on to the desk. “You’ve no idea how much it kills me to work with you, with _you_ , of all people.”

Voldemort looked at him, red eyes snapping with fury, but his voice was even as he said, “Interesting. You hate me so much, and yet you would see this to the end.”

“I’ve already lost enough to you,” Harry whispered. “Loved ones as well as any chance at a normal life. I’m just not prepared to lose any more.”

There was a moment’s stillness from Voldemort, and before he knew it, Harry’s back was slammed into the wall, Voldemort’s hand was about his neck.

“How easy it would be to end your worthless life, Potter,” Voldemort grated, his grip on Harry’s neck tight enough to bruise, though not enough to cut off air. “Even the loss of my magic and life might be worth it to see you grovel.”

“Not going to happen,” Harry said.

“I could break your neck,” Voldemort snapped.

“Should have done it when I was one,” Harry said, feeling drained. “We both would have been free.”

Voldemort’s eyes flickered to Harry’s scar and Harry realised with a jolt that it wasn’t hurting. Even now, Voldemort was keeping his occlumency shields up. In a way, it was sick, the way the magic prevented him from hurting Harry, but Harry was not feeling any pity. This was Voldemort after all. Not some innocent. He had killed, maimed and tortured for fun, caused the destruction of whole muggle villages, threatened to set werewolves on innocent children to bend their parents to his will, imperiused people into committing atrocities. If he was forced into being harmless, well, that was only fair.

“I hate you,” Harry whispered and Voldemort released him. Harry sagged against the wall, wiping away his tears. Why had he cried?

“The feeling is mutual, Potter,” he said, stepping back.

Harry straightened against the wall. “I’m leaving.”

“You have to work with me,” Voldemort said. “You don’t have a choice in this, Potter.”

“When have I ever?” Harry muttered, and Voldemort’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t tell me you would have enjoyed being Dumbledore’s puppet more than this.”

“You don’t understand, do you?” Harry said, his voice low and thick. “I don’t want to work with you, and I don’t want to be Dumbledore’s weapon against you! I want… I want to have parents, I want to have a home, I want a normal life, without having to worry about someone wanting to kill me! I want a normal childhood, to just hang out and enjoy with my friends, without people gawking at me! I don’t want this fucking scar or a piece of my parents’ murderer’s soul inside of me! I just…” his voice broke. “I just don’t want to be _this_.”

“You can stop working with me,” Voldemort said. “You’ll lose your magic of course, but without it you won’t be a threat anymore, and I’ll leave you alone. You could have your wish. A normal life. As a muggle.”

“I’m not a fool, _Tom_ ,” Harry said, ignoring the flinch from Voldemort at the name. “If I lose my magic, you’re freed from the unbreakable vow, free to murder and torture. No, thanks.” He pushed away from the wall. “So, no, I’m not going to stop working with you. Not for anything. But I need some time and some space. So, I’m leaving and I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“But you will be.”

Harry nodded.

“Neither of us have any choice in this,” he said. “So, yes, I’ll be back. I’ll just tell everyone I need some time.”

Voldemort said nothing more and Harry walked out. He felt drained in a way he hadn’t in a long time, empty. Despair was thick on his tongue and it felt as if his heart was a dead weight in his chest. Was he just wasting his time? What was he supposed to do? Working with Voldemort to avert the future was just so broad a statement. Harry wanted specifics. What exactly was they supposed to do? Study runes? Find a way to make Voldemort reabsorb the horcruxes without feeling remorse? Or had Harry already succeeded in changing things with the unbreakable vow?

He made his way back to Gryffindor tower, thankful it was nearing curfew. At least he didn’t have to meet anyone while he was feeling like this.

“Potter?” Snape’s voice arrested his thoughts and his steps. Of course, it would be Snape who had to see him.

“Yes, professor?” he turned to face the man, not meeting his eyes.

He was uncomfortably aware of the dried tear tracks on his face and the dishevelment of his attire. Snape’s gaze on him was sharp.

“Step into my office for a moment, Potter,” he said. “I shall escort you to Gryffindor tower afterwards.”

Harry’s breath hitched as it suddenly struck him what Snape might make of his appearance. Well, he couldn’t get into trouble if Snape couldn’t prove he had been fighting. However, he had no energy left to protest as he followed Snape into his office.


	28. Twenty Seven

“Sit down, Potter,” Snape said before striding to the fireplace. He threw something into the fire which turned a deep purple. “Sirius Black,” Snape said.

A moment later, Sirius was stepping out of Snape’s fireplace.

“You better have a good reason,” he was beginning when he caught sight of Harry. “Harry?” he rounded on Snape. “What the fuck did you do to him?”

“I found him wandering the corridors looking like this,” Snape said at the same time as Harry said. “No one did anything. I’m fine, Sirius.”

Both Snape and Sirius stared at him. Snape conjured a full length mirror and Harry looked at himself.

Oh.

His tie was loosened and his robe was torn at the neck. There was bruising around his neck. His eyes were swollen and red rimmed as if he had been crying. Well, he had been, but he wasn’t aware it was that obvious.

Snape vanished the mirror. “Are you going to tell the truth now?”

“Snape!” Sirius growled. “This is none of your business.”

“As his teacher and the one who found him and informed you, I beg to disagree,”

Snape crossed his arms across his chest and glared at Sirius.

Sirius turned to Harry. “What happened, Harry?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I handled it, all right?”

Snape snorted, but Sirius glared at him and he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and went to sit behind his desk. There was something wrong here, but Harry couldn’t think right now of anything beyond his own situation.

“Harry,” Sirius said quietly. “Whatever happened, no one’s going to blame you. I want you to know that.”

Harry stared. What was Sirius on about? It took a moment for his brain to catch up.

“Merlin!” he yelped, his face burning. “It wasn’t like that, Sirius. It was just a fight.”

“Just a fight,” Snape said, sounding as if he did not believe Harry at all.

“Yes, professor,” Harry said, gritting his teeth, and looking at Sirius again. Merlin, Snape didn’t make it easy to stay polite to him. “Haven’t either of you got into fights when you were in school?”

Sirius laughed. “All the time,” he said.

Snape had gone still and Harry could have bitten his tongue. Of course Snape had been in fights, it could be called that. He had been bullied and humiliated by none other than Harry’s dad.

“Anyway, I handled it like I said,” he said.

“You were supposed to be with the mind healer,” Snape said, apparently not ready to let it go.

“I left early,” Harry said. “I was talking about my parents and the Dursleys and I got a bit upset and left early,” He avoided looking at either men as he spoke.

“I’m sure that’s fine,” Sirius said, adjusting Harry’s tie. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” Harry said.

“All right, since we have established Potter is fine, I think I’ll escort him to his common room.” Snape said.

“I’ll come with,” Sirius said. “Since I’m here anyway.”

“How are you able to do that?” Harry asked as both men fell in step on either side of him. “I didn’t know it was possible to enter Hogwarts like that.”

“It isn’t usually,” Sirius said. “Teachers have some special privileges.”

Harry frowned. Why should teachers have special privileges like that? And if Snape had the power to do this, why had he let Draco struggle all during their sixth year, trying to repair that vanishing cabinet? Of course, Snape was really on Dumbledore’s side, so it was hardly surprising, but it was still disturbing to know that any teacher could just get anyone into Hogwarts this easily. Could Dorian get Death Eaters into the Castle this easily? Or were the special privileges reserved only to the members of the Order?

They met no one on the way to Gryffindor tower. It was of course on par with Harry’s luck. If he were alone, he would have been certain to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris. The universe was just an unfair place.

Sirius hugged him as they reached the fat lady. “Take care of yourself, all right?”

“You too,” Harry hugged him back, suddenly feeling desperate. “Tell Remus hi.”

“He and I are going to Andromeda’s for Christmas Dinner,” Sirius said.

“I have to get back to my quarters,” Snape said acerbically. “The boy has an owl,and so do you. You can send him all the news you want.”

Sirius turned to look at Snape. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Snape.”

He smiled and winked at Harry before leaving with Snape. Harry gave the password and the fat lady swung open.

Harry made his way to the dorms without incident, but sleep was late in coming, his argument with Voldemort not leaving his mind. When finally he fell into sleep, it was fitful and was full of nightmares of red eyes and maniacal laughter and green light. He was running through the chamber of secrets, and then through the graveyard. He was jumping out of a window. He was disapparating from Malfoy Manor, and then he was walking through the forest again.

_Let it stick this time!_

His parents were there again, and Harry turned to them.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he said. “I don’t know what to do. Why didn’t you bargain for your lives too?”

“Oh Harry,” his mom whispered. “We tried, we really did, but… we had to choose you rather than us.”

“You’ve already done well. You’re both on the right path,” his dad said.

“I don’t know what to do, dad,” he said. “What am I supposed to do?”

“You’ve already changed enough things that some of the future is being changed as we speak,” his dad said. “But time is a difficult thing to change Harry, which is why you must continue on the path you’re on till it comes to a point where time will have no choice but to change.”

Harry didn’t understand any of it. Time had no sentience, did it? And what did it mean part of the future was changed? Of course it had changed. He was not a Triwizard champion any more. That was a big change.

“How will I even know?” he asked finally.

“You’ll know,” his mom smiled at him, sad and proud. “The contract will disappear. You’ll feel it.”

Harry woke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, since I'm doing Nanowrimo, this story might take a break during November. I'll try to update regularly, but I can't promise anything. Thank you all for being so supportive. Don't forget to hit that kudos button, and your comments always make my day. Thank you all for all the love, and keep it flowing!!


	29. Twenty Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still doing nano, but I've also been following the US Elections, and ugh, anxiety brain needed an outlet.

A couple of days before Christmas, Harry managed to corner Cedric. It was made easier by the fact that Cedric was alone, and Harry just walked up to him, asking.

“Hey, how’s the second task going?”

“Not very well,” Cedric gave him a wide smile, friendly as ever. “The egg just wails when I open it, and I can’t see any clue in it. Of course, the last few days have been busy with the Yule ball preparations.”

Ah. The ball. Harry still remembered how it was the last time. This time, he didn’t have to ask anyone fortunately, and though Ron kept moaning about how they might be the only ones without any partners, Harry wasn’t bothered. Cho would be going with Cedric and Ginny with Neville. There really wasn’t anyone else he could think of asking. He had never paid attention to any other girls in his past life. He was strongly tempted to ask Ron to take Lavender to the ball, but he didn’t want to do anything that might mess up that part of the future. He wanted Ron and Hermione to end up together, and he was terrified that he would change that part of the future as well.

“Well, good luck with both,” Harry said. “Hope you crack the egg’s clue soon.”

They were almost in front of the office Voldemort used, and Harry could feel his heart begin to speed up. He had successfully avoided the man for a week, and he hadn’t anticipated Cedric would be using this route to go to the Great Hall.

“Thank you,” Cedric smiled at him. “Where are your friends? It’s unusual to see you alone.”

“Hermione’s in the library,” Harry said, trying to hide his nervousness. “Ron’s gathering his courage to ask someone to the ball.”

“What about you?” Cedric asked. “Who are you taking?”

“No one,” Harry said. “I’m not going. I asked Professor McGonagall and she gave me permission.”

Perhaps it wasn’t exactly right to take advantage of his presumed situation with the mind healer and all, but Harry was past caring about that. It was not like he was hurting anyone. It was completely impossible for him to care about something like a ball at the moment.

“Listen,” Harry said. “I don’t know if this is any use, but I once heard Hermione talk of something she read about stuff that makes sense only under certain conditions, like underwater or beneath a full moon, you know. Perhaps the egg’s like that.”

“I might as well try,” Cedric grinned. “Thanks. If Hermione Granger said it, I’m sure there may be things like that.”

They had drawn abreast of Voldemort’s door and Harry wanted to whoop as they passed the closed door. Perhaps it was cowardly, but he wasn’t ready to meet Voldemort again.

“Mr. Potter?” the voice arrested him in his tracks, and he turned around. Voldemort was standing at the door to his office. “Can I have a word with you?”

Cedric had a frowning look on his face as he looked from Harry to Voldemort. “Who is that, Harry?”

“Friend of Sirius,” Harry muttered, his brain unable to move away from the image of Cedric lying dead in a graveyard which was what had happened the last time he had been with Harry and Voldemort. “I’ll see you later,” he gave Cedric a smile and turned fully to face Voldemort. “Sure, Sean.”

He waited till Cedric was gone before he walked up to Voldemort. “What now?” he asked.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I told you I needed time.”

“How much time, Potter?” Voldemort huffed. “Get in the office. I don’t want to be having this discussion where schoolchildren may happen upon us any moment.”

Harry entered the office, his heart rate spiking upwards, his guts churning. Voldemort closed the door and cast his usual privacy charms on it before turning his attention fully to Harry.

“How much more time do you need?” he asked.

Harry couldn’t help the snort that came from him.

“I don’t know. It’s not something that can be predicted.”

Voldemort gazed at him, his eyes sharp.

“You helped Diggory cheat,” he said.

Harry shrugged.

“I’m just giving him an even chance.”

“Oh, yes,” a contemptuous smile curled Voldemort’s mouth. “There’s always an excuse for it when it’s you who do it, isn’t there?”

Harry stared at him, nonplussed.

“What are you talking about?”

“You blatantly help Diggory, and claim you’re doing it to give him—what did you call it?—an even chance. You crucio Bellatrix and call it revenge,” Voldemort took a step forward and Harry backed away automatically. “You use Sectumsempra on Draco Malfoy and, what was your excuse then, Potter?” One more step forward and Harry took one back again. “You try and crucio Severus, try and use Sectumsempra on him, after knowing what it did, but that’s okay, isn’t it? Because he killed someone _you_ cared for, so whatever you do is justified, isn’t it?” Voldemort was almost spitting the words now, and Harry’s back hit the door. “You crucio Amycus, for what? Spitting on your professor’s face? That was justification enough to want to _torture_ someone for you.” Voldemort stopped, inches away from Harry. “Just because you didn’t cast a killing curse doesn’t make you any better than others, Potter. You can sit on your high horse and judge anyone you want, but you know as well as I do that you’re no better than anyone else. Draco Malfoy at least had to be threatened and forced into torturing people. You just find excuses everywhere!”

Harry stared at Voldemort, his mind numb, and his tongue seemed to have cleaved to the roof of his mouth. He couldn’t utter a single sound, offer no exculpation. Perhaps he could have said he hadn’t done anything like that in this life, that he never would, but the fact was he had done all those things. Could he really be certain he wouldn’t do any of those again? He turned around and gripped the door handle, his only thought to get as far away from the other wizard as possible.

“Running away again?” Voldemort sounded mocking. “Here I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Harry managed before he was out of the door.


	30. Twenty Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nano is still going well, had another covid scare, but fortunately was tested negative. Stay safe, everyone, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. Keep the love flowing.

The Yule ball came and the whole castle was abuzz with excitement. Ron and Hermione as well as the rest of the Gryffindors had left for the ball, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. He thought of calling Sirius, but didn’t want to disturb him. He and Remus were probably enjoying their evening with Andromeda and her family. As was usual these days, his thoughts drifted to Voldemort and the last two meetings they had. Even now, Harry wasn’t certain how spectacularly everything had disintegrated. Voldemort must have been chomping at the bit, raring to get it out, to get Harry to break the bond so he would be freed from both the vow and the contract. Harry had been a fool to think this could work. His parents were wrong. This wasn’t going to work at all.

“Potter,” a familiar voice spoke from the door, and Harry’s head whipped up and he stared at the man he had been thinking of. Voldemort stood by the portrait door, his eyes fixed on Harry.

“What do you want?” Harry asked. “And how did you get in here?”

“Dorian gave me the password,” Voldemort moved inside, his eyes roving over the room. “So this is the Gryffindor common room. It has its charms, I suppose.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “What do you want, Voldemort?”

“To talk,” Voldemort looked uncomfortable. “I feel that my words to you the last time and before that were perhaps excessive.”

Harry stared. Was Voldemort acknowledging he was wrong? Was this an apology? But why?

“I still need time,” he said finally, because the silence was beginning to be awkward.

“All right,” Voldemort said, still not looking at him. “I’ll be leaving then… I just wanted you to know that I… I understand.”

Voldemort was definitely looking uncomfortable now.

“You do?” Harry didn’t believe it. He couldn’t. This was Voldemort after all.

“Good night,” Voldemort said and he turned to go.

“Why?” Harry asked suddenly. “Why are you here? What you said… it wasn’t anything untrue…”

Voldemort’s back was stiff, and he did not turn to face Harry.

“I hurt you with my words,” he said.

“Oh,” Harry murmured. “The contract. I’d forgotten,”

He couldn’t explain to himself why he felt deflated at that thought. For the fraction of a second he’d thought… what had he thought? He was a fool, whatever it was.

“The contract,” Voldemort agreed, his voice flat before he left.

Harry stared as the portrait door closed, leaving him alone in the common room. He was confused and more upset than he would have expected. He sat down on one of the armchairs and stared at the ancient runes book he was trying to read, but his mind kept replaying the weird conversation from a while before and with a frustrated huff, he closed the book. Why was Voldemort even there? Why did he feel the need to say anything? What was he playing at? Harry did not like this.

_I’m a fool for thinking I can do this._

Voldemort was the most powerful dark wizard of their times and without any doubt the smartest. Harry was way in over his head here. Had he truly thought an unbreakable vow would hold him? Voldemort had made it very clear that he was chafing at the constraints Harry had placed on him, and he was probably trying to do something to get out of it without there being any repercussions on him.

Or perhaps he was telling the truth and it was just the nature of the contract that had driven him. Harry wished he could believe that. But if it had been the contract, it would have stopped Voldemort from speaking his mind in the first place. Harry frowned suddenly.

Voldemort had slammed him against the wall, and had nearly choked him, and neither the contract nor the unbreakable vow had stopped him. Why was that? Voldemort had laid a sleep spell on him once, and Harry had thought he’d got such covered by the healer contract. Had Voldemort already found a loophole?

Harry grabbed the book and stuffed it into his school bag and took it to his dorm. He had to know how Voldemort was able to do all that. He changed quickly and exited the dorm and was out of the portrait hole before he could think. The castle was deserted since everyone was at the Yule Ball, so he didn’t use his cloak. Technically he was out after hours, but he felt almost certain he wouldn’t run into any trouble today.

He knocked at Voldemort’s door, trepidation churning his gut. Was this wise? What if Voldemort was in bed? He tried to picture Voldemort in a frilly nightgown and snorted.

The door opened, and Voldemort stood there, his eyes wide in surprise.

“Potter.” he stepped aside. “Come in. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Harry waited till Voldemort had laid the usual privacy charms before asking, “How were you able to hurt me? Physically I mean.”

Voldemort looked away from Harry.

“I wondered how long it would take for you to-”

“Don’t,” Harry interrupted. “Just tell me, please.”

“You’re my horcrux,” Voldemort said finally, speaking as if the words were causing him pain. “What I do to you… it is probably seen as self harm or something like that.”

“Do you know or are you guessing here?”

Voldemort snorted.

“I’m guessing, Potter. What we have, everything about us, is without any precedents. There has never been a case like yours, never a connection like ours, so I can only guess.”

“You mean I should have made you swear not to hurt yourself if I had to get a reprieve?” Harry asked. “So, what, you can crucio me now?”

“The contract would prevent that,” Voldemort said quietly. “I’m guessing as long as the harm is minimal to your body, it is seen as self harm, but where it starts getting to the point when it may impact your own mind, and magic, the vow will stop me.”

Harry was feeling drained now, and horrified and just so fucking tired of this.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said finally, turning to leave.

“I would never hurt you,” Voldemort said from behind him. “I never meant to.”

There was something in his voice that had never been there before, a ring of sincerity, but this was still Voldemort and Harry… Harry couldn’t trust him.

“You already did.” he said finally.

“I’m sorry for that.” Voldemort’s voice had grown so quiet, and yet the room was so still Harry had no difficulty hearing him. Even the crackling of the fire in the fireplace sounded muted. “You asked me why I came to your common room. I came because I missed you. It… this… is something new to me, and I lied.”

Harry still had his back to Voldemort, and his hand was still on the door handle, but he was trembling now.

“You missed me.”

“Horribly.” Voldemort said. “More than I would have believed possible… and when I saw you that day… I never meant to say any of that, but… I’m sorry.”

Harry couldn’t deal with this. Not with this. He could deal with Voldemort having a nefarious plan, heck he could even take a crucio, but a Voldemort who said he missed him and sounded as if he meant it was beyond any strength he had. Because Harry wanted to _believe_ him, and wasn’t that just pathetic, that he wanted to believe that _Voldemort_ could grow to care enough to miss him? That he even _wanted_ that care?

“I need to go.” he whispered before opening the door and bolting back to Gryffindor tower.

This was the third time he was doing it, running away, and nowadays it seemed that was his preferred thing to do where Voldemort was concerned. It was ironic that in his previous life, when he was fighting the other wizard, he had never run, but had fought, but now when he was supposed to be working with him, he spent half the time running away from him.


	31. Thirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished Nanowrimo in 15 days, and a lot of people at work are down with Covid, so I've been working like 11 to 12 hours on most days last week. I feel like a zombie and just want to crash all weekend. Still, I love how so many people seem to love this fic, so I have shaken off my zombieness to bring you this update. I hope you all enjoy it.

Harry found it difficult to fall asleep that night. He pretended not to hear Ron and Hermione shouting at each other in the common room and feigned sleep when Ron came up to bed. His mind kept going over Voldemort’s words, the expression on his face, and he could not deny how much it had affected him. Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought he would develop any feelings for Voldemort other than hatred and anger. He was feeling betrayed by his own heart. His discombobulation was not merely on account of the newfound feelings, but the fact remained that his hatred for Voldemort still remained undiminished.

_How can I hate him and be in love with him at the same time?_

Was this the effect of the Horcrux inside him? Was it influencing him in some way? Surely, this couldn’t be natural, this feeling? This was the man who had killed his parents for Merlin’s sake!

The man his parents wanted him to work with. The man who had been teaching him ancient runes, who had been acting like a sane and sensible wizard ever since his resurrection, unlike the utterly insane psychopath Harry remembered from his previous life. Harry remembered the memories he had shared with him, after his incursion into Harry’s mind, memories of his childhood, his most vulnerable moments, memories he probably hated, and he had shared them with Harry because he understood at some level how vulnerable Harry had felt, letting Voldemort into his head, into seeing his memories. Harry remembered the awkwardness, the way Voldemort couldn’t look at him when he confessed that he had missed Harry, the apology.

Harry closed his eyes. He didn’t want to remember all that. He didn’t want to think of Voldemort as anything other than as a monster because otherwise, otherwise he was completely fucked. This feeling wasn’t going to go away, whatever its origins and how was he to ever keep it under control if Voldemort insisted on being nice and understanding? When he finally fell asleep, it was nearly dawn, and it was dreamless as well.

The end of the holidays brought a new level of excitement in the castle as the second task approached. Harry tried to keep himself apart, but it was difficult. He successfully avoided Voldemort though and the wizard also made no further attempts to contact him. Classes went on as usual, and it was a relief that Snape was as antagonistic as ever, even though Harry had stopped trying to argue or even say anything other than “Yes, sir,” and “No, sir,”. Somehow that seemed to incense Snape even more.

Talking to Sirius was the highlight of his day. Ron and Hermione seemed to have a cold war going, reminding Harry of his third year in his previous life when Ron had thought Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers. Though he tried to make peace, he had his own problems to deal with. Cedric had thanked him for the egg’s clue, so at least that was going well. Sirius told him he and Remus were regular visitors in the Tonks’ household, and Harry was keeping his fingers crossed for Remus and Tonks to get together.

“Any plans for Valentine’s day?” Ron asked him one day out of the blue.

“What?” Harry stared at his best friend, surprised.

“Valentine’s day, Harry,” Ron said. “It’s in three weeks, you know.”

“Yes, Ron, three weeks. Why are you so anxious?” He was suspicious. “You have any plans?”

“Well, I was thinking of what Hermione said,” Ron’s face was almost the same colour as his hair. “When you know, after the ball, she said if I didn’t like her going with anyone else, I should have asked her first.”

Harry stared again. “You’re going to ask Hermione out for Valentine’s day?” he asked, just to clarify.

Ron nodded.

“Okay,” This was different from the last time, but couldn’t be bad, right? “What has my plans to do with it?”

“Well, I thought, you could come with us, if you have anyone in mind, you know? Make it a double date?”

Harry chuckled and shook his head.

“I’ve no one in mind,” he said firmly, banishing a certain wizard from his mind. “You should ask her before Krum does, though. I mean it’s just three weeks away.”

“Well, it’s not like it’s the weekend,” Ron said. “I mean, he can’t really ask her out on a date, and…” Ron paused as if realising that it applied to him as well. “I mean, we always sit together anyway, so-”

“Get her a gift,” Harry said, suppressing an eye roll. “And tell her how you feel. Don’t wait too long.”

“How are you better at this than I am?” Ron complained, squinting at Harry. “Is there really no one you like?”

Harry shrugged. “I.. I think I may like guys as well, Ron.”

His insides squirmed in trepidation as he waited for Ron’s response. Ron stared at him, mouth agape.

“Well,” Ron said. “As long as you don’t get the hots for Malfoy or something,”

Harry laughed. “No chance of that.”

He dared not think of Ron’s reaction if he knew who Harry’s choice was. Malfoy might have been the better option, but Harry’s heart seemed determined to wish for impossibilities.

“What do you think the second task is?” Ron asked. “I mean, Cedric seems pretty confident, and so do the other two.”

“Easier than battling a dragon, probably,” Harry said, glad that the awkwardness of his coming out was over.

“You haven’t been to see your mind healer in ages,” Ron said after a moment. “Not working out for you?”

“He’s… what he’s doing is… I need some time to process everything,” Harry said finally, which wasn’t a lie as such.

Ron nodded. “That means it’s good, right? That it’s helping?”

Harry nodded, diverting Ron’s attention by asking about Hermione and successfully distracting Ron. He knew things couldn’t go on as they were. He had to put his emotions aside and go back. They had to figure out a way to change the future.


	32. Thirty One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is exactly one year since I lost my son. I wasn't sure I would be up to updating this, but I had been hiding in my room all day, and writing, so here it is. Today is not a good day, but I'm so grateful to everyone who has read this, left kudos and comments. The past one year has been the hardest in my life, and sometimes I'm surprised I've managed to survive. Thank you all once more for all the love you have showered on this. Hope you enjoy the chapter.

Voldemort showed no reaction when Harry approached him the next evening, silently allowing Harry to enter and casting the privacy wards and charms. Harry sat down at his usual chair—since when did he have a usual chair in Voldemort’s room?—and attempted to calm his breathing.

Voldemort sat down behind the desk, and handed a tome to Harry. It was the book he had been studying before their fight, and Harry took out his quill and parchment from the bag and started making notes. It was an hour filled only with the sound of the quill scratching and the flames crackling that Voldemort spoke.

“Are you all right?”

Was he? Harry didn’t think so. His emotions were all over the place, and his attempts at running away hadn’t worked. He was so hyperaware of the other wizard and he wasn’t sure how the enforced proximity would cause him to react.

“I’m fine,” he said, the lie slipping out with the ease of long practice.

He didn’t look up from the parchment, and Voldemort’s pale hand closed over his, stopping his writing. For all his snake like appearance and paleness, Voldemort’s hand was warm, and that was all Harry could focus on now.

“Harry,” Voldemort said, his voice quiet.

Almost against his will, his eyes rose to meet Voldemort’s and Harry tried to school his features into some semblance of normalcy.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Voldemort said.

“I think I’m bisexual.” The words tumbled out before he could think of a lie and Harry was horrified and mortified, but on second thoughts, it was a good distraction from the actual truth.

Voldemort’s eyes widened a fraction. “So, all this discombobulation and angst is basically you figuring out your sexuality?”

“I was straight in my previous life,” Harry said.

Voldemort’s eyebrows climbed a bit higher.

“I was.” Harry said. “I mean, yeah sure, I did think Cedric was good looking, but I never thought of him as hot and-” He bit his words off as he realised what he was about to say. He didn’t want to open the can of worms that might ensue if he confessed he thought Tom Riddle was handsome.

“And?” Voldemort prompted.

Harry both wanted to and didn’t. “Nothing,” he said finally, both hoping and not that Voldemort would push. He both wanted and did not want that conversation.

“All right.” Voldemort released his hand.

Harry was conscious of a feeling of disappointment. Of all times, now Voldemort had to develop respect for personal boundaries?

“Are you sure that’s all?” Voldemort asked. “Or is your being here an attempt at distracting yourself?”

“I’m… I don’t want another fight,” Harry said. “But this, all this… it… I don’t know… it’s pretty frustrating.”

“It was never going to be easy.” Voldemort said quietly. “You know it too, Harry. If you were looking for an easy choice, you wouldn’t have chosen this.”

“How are you the reasonable one?” Harry groaned. “How are you even sane? You were batshit crazy in my previous life, just one step removed from Bellatrix.”

Voldemort laughed. “That’s one way of putting it.” he agreed. “But from what I’ve seen of your memories, it does seem like a fair assessment, both of Bella and me.”

“But you’re not like that now,” Harry said.

“It’s…” Voldemort sighed. “Being around you and all the other pieces of my soul that you’d collected… including the diary which was the first… I didn’t know splitting my soul could cause me to go insane… Makes sense in retrospect though.”

“Are you saying you wouldn’t have gone ahead with it if you had known?” Harry asked, unable to keep the disbelief from his voice.

“I’m not saying I would have given up on the pursuit of immortality,” Voldemort said thoughtfully. “But perhaps I wouldn’t have split my soul into so many pieces.” He paused. “You’ve to understand, Harry. My mind, my intellect, it was all I had when I first reached Hogwarts. Even my magic was secondary to that. Everyone had magic. I was a half blood who came from a muggle orphanage who was sorted into a house full of pure bloods who believed in blood supremacy. Even with parseltongue and my magic, I wouldn’t even have been _accepted_ , let alone risen to be the leader of them all if I didn’t have my intelligence, my capacity to _think_. Even for immortality, I wouldn’t have compromised that.”

“It wasn’t like you weren’t intelligent,” Harry said finally. “You could think and plan, and all,” He thought of the trap that had lured him into the Department of Mysteries. “You just weren’t sane.”

“You think that an insane person’s intelligence would actually avail them?” Voldemort questioned. “Dumbledore was right, Harry. Had I been myself, I wouldn’t have been so blinded. Not by the prophecy, not by the connection between our wands, not by the fact that you had a protection that resided in your blood.”

“You’re saying if you had been sane, you wouldn’t have taken my blood.” Harry said, surprised.

Voldemort huffed as he rose and came around the desk to sit in front of Harry, leaning forward.

“I’m not saying I would have understood it, but I would have tried to learn more about it before deciding to take it. I’m not impulsive, Harry. Nor impatient. I never was. And yet, that is exactly what I turned out to be in the end.” He gazed at Harry, almost a speculative look in his eyes now. “Knowing everything I know, I’m not sorry I used your blood to regenerate,” He lifted a hand to cup Harry’s face, and Harry’s breath caught. “It would have been such a shame otherwise.”

A part of Harry wanted to ask why, but his Gryffindor impulsiveness and recklessness had been much tempered these days, and Harry knew that no matter what, pushing that line of questioning was not wise, not when his own feelings were so disordered.

“You’re saying that just being in the presence of your horcruxes is keeping you sane?”

Voldemort released him, sitting back, eyes still gleaming. “You felt it, didn’t you? The locket? And the diary? I feel them too, except they keep me sane, provide me strength.” He paused. “Being with you has the same effect.”

“It affected us all,” Harry said slowly. “The horcrux in the locket… and I’m one too… do you think the Dursleys might have been affected by it?”

Voldemort snorted. “Your relatives are garbage.” he said. “Don’t try and find excuses for them. And no, it is too small to have affected anyone. Besides, why did it not affect your friends or teachers? Even I in my previous life was not aware of it despite sharing your mind, being in proximity with you and even possessing you.” He paused. “I feel it now because I _know_ it is there, and because having the diary which contains the biggest sliver of my soul has made me more aware. Which reminds me,” Voldemort rose and went behind his desk again, opening a drawer and rummaging in it. “Ah, here it is,”

He handed it to Harry who stared in astonishment at Hufflepuff’s cup.

“I thought it was in the Lestrange’s vault,” he said.

“You think you and your friends are the only ones who can break into Gringotts?” Voldemort asked, amused. “I’m an evil dark lord, you know. I do admit though that I didn’t do anything as spectacular as freeing a dragon and escaping on its back, but I got the cup.”

“Why are you giving it to me?” Harry asked, surprised.

Voldemort’s gaze flickered to Harry’s scar. “It seemed fitting,” The crimson eyes found his again. “Besides, I trust you.”

Harry stared, unable to stop his mouth from hanging open.


	33. Thirty Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this week on, I have to work on Saturdays as well, so I wasn't sure I'd be able to update today, but here it is. Thank you all for being so amazing. Keep the love flowing. Love you all.

Harry spent two days a week learning runes under Voldemort’s tutelage and the rest of the days in normal activities. Listening to speculation about the second task was amusing, but Harry also could not but wonder who would rescue Fleur’s sister. Of course, he had to trust that the hostages would be safe, but he couldn’t help but worry slightly. Watching Ron and Hermione’s relationship change in small ways was also a worrying factor. What if it was too early? Would Hermione still be the hostage Krum had to rescue? If she was, how was that going to affect her relationship with Ron?

At least worrying about other people was helping him to steer his mind clear of his own problems. He still hadn’t figured out his conflicting feelings for Voldemort. He wasn’t even sure where to start with that. How could he have any feelings other than hatred for the man who killed his parents? The man who had caused so much fear, misery and suffering? The man who split his own fucking soul into seven just so he can live forever? The man who murdered and tortured for _fun_?

Harry had no illusions about Voldemort in spite of his feelings. The dark wizard hadn’t changed in the slightest. He would still be out there hurting people and terrorising them if not for the magic and the vows that bound him. No matter what, Harry didn’t think that anything could bind Voldemort for good. Besides, Harry was mortal. Voldemort was not. At least not at the moment. The vow and the binding magic was going to be there only as long as Harry was alive. Even the secrecy surrounding Voldemort’s rebirth was there only till such time as they changed the timeline.

Besides, there was Dorian. He was their bonder. He knew what the vow was, what it did. He seemed like an okay person, not like the usual Death Eaters, but the fact was he was a danger. He could just decide Harry was holding his master back and kill him. Harry was better at duelling, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think everyone was going to attack from the front.

Talking to Sirius was the one of the few times he could forget the weight of everything that was on him. Harry didn’t know why that was. He didn’t try to analyse it, just accepting it and being happy with it. Being with Ron and Hermione also helped, though he knew that he would never be able to confide in any of them the truth. Strange as it was, the only other time he could forget was when Voldemort was teaching him runes. The man truly was a good teacher.

Would anything have changed if Dippet had allowed Voldemort to have the DADA position? Would Voldemort have forgotten his ambitions and settled down to become a teacher? He doubted that. What would he have been as a teacher? Another Snape? Doubtful. Voldemort was—or at least had once been—too smart to show his real intentions. Two horcruxes hadn’t really caused so much damage to his soul that it had affected his thinking capacity.

Perhaps Hepzibah Smith might still have been alive if Voldemort had been given the DADA position. Perhaps not. Perhaps he would have killed someone else in Hogwarts, made it look like an accident. Perhaps he would have unleashed the basilisk and killed a lot more people. There was no saying how things would have gone. Not with Voldemort.

Days turned into weeks and before he knew it, it was Valentine’s day and though there was nothing like the garish decorations or celebrations that Lockhart had effected, there was still enough change in the atmosphere to make it noticeable. Harry couldn’t remember the Valentine’s day of his fourth year in his previous life. The one burned into his mind was the disastrous one in his fifth year when he had gone on a date with Cho.

Ignoring the celebrations in his house and Ron and Hermione sitting next to each other, holding hands, Harry made his way to the portrait hole and directed his footsteps to Voldemort’s office. He was struck by the funny side of the situation. He was going to be spending his Valentine’s day with Voldemort and strangely, he wanted to.

_I have to get a handle on these feelings._

It also reminded him that he hadn’t told Sirius about his sexuality. It had just skipped his mind, with everything that was going on. In spite of how frequently they talked, Harry had completely forgotten.

_Have to get around to that soon._

Sirius was going to be hurt if he was to learn from anyone except Harry. He took a turn from the corridor leading from Gryffindor tower and the whole place went dark, an unnatural chill emanating. Harry’s mouth went dry. He knew this chill, knew this darkness. He was back at the lake, watching a thousand dementors approaching him and Sirius. He was in Privet Drive, Dursley punching him and running straight at the dementors. He was in the ministry corridor, in Hogwarts, and again there were voices in his head. This time it was not his parents’ screams, but it was Voldemort’s high cold voice, Sirius’ words just before he fell through the veil, Percy’s scream as Fred died, Dobby speaking his name just before falling over.

Something lit up the corridor, bright as the sun, and Harry saw that it was a huge dog.

“Sirius,” he whispered and suddenly, arms were around him, helping him up, and he was half carried, half led into a room, pushed into a chair and a piece of chocolate was in his hands.

He nibbled at it, feeling warmth return to his body, and he realised that he had been shaking.

“Did I pass out?” he whispered in a voice not quite steady.

“No,” Sirius said, his voice grim and Harry was aware that he was in Voldemort’s office and that there were a lot more people in the room than he had previously realised. Voldemort was there, but also Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape, and Cornelius Fudge who was looking quite chagrined.

“I fail to see why you felt the need to bring those things into my school, Cornelius,” Dumbledore was saying. “Or even why you felt you needed their protection. Who were you expecting to attack you?”

Fudge turned bright red, but said nothing except stammered apologies.

“Your apologies aren’t good enough,” Sirius said, anger in his voice. “You put my godson at risk. If you cannot control your creatures, I suggest you don’t bring them.”

Harry nibbled at the chocolate again, feeling the weight of the mokeskin pouch around his neck. He had never been able to cast a proper patronus in the vicinity of Voldemort’s horcruxes. He stole a look at the man. He was standing immobile to a side, face impassive, but there was something predatory about the very stillness of his posture and Harry could see the tightly clenched fists. Voldemort was furious, though he was hiding it.

Fudge tried to speak again, but this time it was Voldemort’s icy voice that interrupted him.

“You’ve endangered my patient whose mind is already fragile due to the horrors suffered by him. If you have nothing useful to say, I suggest you leave, so I can see if my patient is okay.”

Fudge spluttered, and Dumbledore hid a grin even as he led the man outside, but not before giving Voldemort a grin. Snape and McGonagall followed suit, the latter giving Voldemort a smile as well. Harry couldn’t help it as he broke into laughter.

“Harry,” Sirius sounded worried as he approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Harry?”

“I think you should leave us too, Mr. Black,” Voldemort said. “I’ll take care of Harry.”

“Go,” Harry managed finally.

“I’ll come back to take you back to Gryffindor tower,” Sirius said.

Harry felt a sharp spike of annoyance. He was not a child!

“I’m staying here tonight,” he said.

He could feel Voldemort’s surprise, even though the connection between them stayed firmly closed.

“All right,” Sirius said. “I’ll see you in the morning then. We… we have some things we need to talk about.”

Before Harry could articulate his confusion, Sirius was gone.


	34. Thirty Three

“How did that idiot ever become minister?” Voldemort fumed.

Harry chuckled, though it was a weak sound.

“Before my time,” he said, still nibbling at the chocolate.

“Don’t carry them with you,” Voldemort said. “You know enough warding spells to keep them safe. Not to say that damn pouch.”

Harry looked at him. “You mean the horcruxes?”

Voldemort nodded. “Don’t think I don’t know why you you couldn’t cast a patronus,” he said, his face grim.

“Not your fault.” Harry sighed.

Voldemort was right. He didn’t need to carry them everywhere. Why did he even? He didn’t want to leave them lying around in the dorms, but Voldemort was again right when he said Harry knew enough warding spells.

“I won’t carry them with me now.” He paused as he realised something. “Fudge knows I’m seeing a mind healer.”

“He’s under an oath of secrecy,” Voldemort said drily. “He saw you being carried in there and he would have asked questions, so he had to be brought in to the secret, but Dumbledore got him to swear an oath of secrecy.”

Harry wished Dumbledore had cared as much for his safety and life as he did for his privacy. Not that he had ever cared for protecting Harry’s privacy the last time.

“Can’t believe he thought of something like that,” he said, unable to keep the bitterness from his tone.

“Your godfather insisted,” Voldemort said drily. “While I’m glad you aren’t blinded by Dumbledore, I can’t help but be concerned either. You’re too young to be so cynical.”

Harry laughed. “I’m not as young as I look,” he said. “I’m not fourteen, Voldemort.”

“Still too young,” Voldemort returned calmly, transfiguring one of the chairs into a bed. “Go to bed. After what happened, you need to rest.”

Harry bristled. “I’ve handled worse,” The chocolate was filling him with warmth, and he was feeling drowsy.

“I know,” Voldemort said. “But you shouldn’t have to. After all, isn’t that the purpose of everything we’re doing here? So you can be—what was it you said?—a normal teenager again?”

Harry licked his fingers. “I think that train has left the station.”

“Perhaps,” Voldemort’s voice was quiet. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a normal life ever. At least you have nothing to fear from me now.”

“If any one found out,” Harry said after a moment. “Your Death eaters for instance, I would have a target on my back. You know this too.”

“I know.” Voldemort said calmly. “No one will ever know.”

“Dorian knows,” Harry pointed out.

“What do you suggest we do?” Voldemort leaned against the desk, arms crossed in front of his chest, his eyes intent.

“Make him swear an oath of secrecy?” Harry shrugged.

Voldemort’s expression changed, but it was so minute, and was gone the next moment, his face smoothening into impassivity.

“You constantly surprise me, Potter.”

Harry was bewildered. “Why?”

“Dorian,” Voldemort said. “I would have thought of a – more permanent solution.”

Harry was aghast though perhaps he shouldn’t have been. That was always going to be Voldemort’s first instinct, wasn’t it?

“You can’t,” he said finally.

“I know,” Voldemort said. “You prevented that. So, an oath of secrecy it will have to be.”

Harry stared at him. “If not for my oath, you would have killed Dorian? He’s… he’s loyal to you!”

“As he should be,” Voldemort said. “They swore their loyalty, Potter, swore they were mine, so why shouldn’t I claim their life if it suits me?”

“They’re people! They’re not puppets or slaves!”

“They’re what I say they are,” Voldemort said calmly. “Shall we leave this unproductive line of arguments? We’re never going to agree on this.”

Harry stared at him, but knew it would be of no use. How could he love this man? That was a dichotomy within him he couldn’t even understand.

“Why was Sirius here?” he asked, after a moment.

“Why do you think I know?” Voldemort asked. “Or that I care about your godfather’s doings?”

“Do you know?” Harry asked.

Voldemort shrugged. “I’ve no doubt he’ll tell you in the morning.”

“So you do know.”

“I’m not blind,” Voldemort said drily. “But you’ve always been remarkably obtuse.”

Harry frowned. “What does that mean?”

Voldemort shook his head. “I’m not making more of a fool out of myself than I already have. Go to bed, Potter.”

Harry sighed, and pushed his glasses up. “I’m not sleepy.”

“I can take care of that,”

Harry glared at him. “No more sleep spells or hugging. It’s creepy.”

“Please,” Voldemort rolled his eyes. “I’m not a pedophile, Potter, for all my faults. I was only trying to help.”

“Just cast a silencing charm and leave me to my nightmares,” Harry sighed.

If we were to wake in Voldemort’s arms again, he just might blurt out some things he didn’t want to. He was not eager to hand over more weapons to Voldemort than was absolutely necessary.


	35. Thirty Four

Sirius seemed oddly nervous, and that made Harry anxious. What was so bad that Sirius was so apprehensive about telling him? He led Harry into Snape’s office of all places, but thankfully it was empty.

“Okay,” Sirius said. “There’s no easy way of saying this, so I’ll just come out and say it. Snape and I are sleeping together.”

Harry was aware that his mouth was hanging open. Sirius was studiously not looking at him. He knew he should say something, but it felt like his brain was frozen.

“We’re not,” Sirius muttered, “I mean, not like we’re dating or anything, it’s just a with benefits arrangement, but I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else.”

It explained why Snape backed off when Sirius asked him, why Sirius was in Hogwarts the previous night.

“Usually he comes to my place, it’s the first time I’ve come to Hogwarts to see him,” Sirius was continuing, sounding apologetic. “We… I guess we were both lonely and one thing led to another, and… Harry, please say something.”

“I didn’t know Snape swung that way,” was what came out of Harry’s mouth.

Sirius looked torn between amusement, indignation and relief.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Harry muttered. “I didn’t know you swung that way either, and did I tell you I was bisexual?”

Sirius laughed, pulling Harry into a hug. “I’m just glad you aren’t angry with me,” he said. “And totally cool whatever you are. You know that.”

“I’m not mad,” Harry muttered, hugging back. “Just… don’t get hurt, okay? I know you said this was casual, but… I’m just worried.”

Sirius pulled away, a teasing smile on his face. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “So you won’t have to give Snape a shovel talk.”

Harry snorted. Even to imagine that was too funny. Not as funny as imagining Sirius giving Voldemort a shovel talk though.

_Not that there’s any need for it._

Whatever his own feelings, Voldemort had never given any indication that Harry was anything other than an annoying but temporarily necessary ally.

_Once we change the timeline, he’s going to just walk away._

Harry should be relieved. After all, if that happened, it would mean that he had saved everyone, for as long as he lived. But more importantly, it would have bought him and everyone else time to find a more permanent solution. Without having to kill anyone.

It profoundly disturbed him that apparently he had killed Voldemort in his previous life. Quirrel had been an accident. He had been trying to save himself, not to kill Quirrel. He had been eleven and frightened and it was instinct, but if he did kill Voldemort, he couldn’t claim it was anything other than deliberate action. He was ready to swear that he was not capable of the killing curse, even against Voldemort. Hadn’t Voldemort himself thrown it at him? That just because he wouldn’t use the killing curse didn’t make him better? Yet, how else could it have happened? Voldemort had told him they had been duelling, adult him.

How funny that seventeen year old he had been called adult.

“How’s Remus taking it?” Harry asked.

Sirius shrugged. “He doesn’t mind. He never disliked Snape as much as, well, anyway, that’s neither here nor there I suppose. As I said, it’s not like either of us care, but I think the sex kind of make us rather tolerable to each other.”

Harry couldn’t help but snigger even as he was aware of the blood rushing to his cheeks. “TMI,” he said.

Before Sirius could answer, Snape walked in. His eyebrows lifted as he saw them, though he said nothing.

“I just told Harry,” Sirius said. “We’ll be getting out of your hair in a minute, Snape.”

Snape snorted. “Don’t leave on my account. I just came to get a book, If Potter doesn’t hurry, he’s going to be late for class. Breakfast is nearly over.”

“Oh fuck.” Harry muttered. “I need to run.”

“Don’t skip breakfast!” Sirius shouted after him.

The next few days passed uneventfully till the day of the second task dawned. Harry woke early, and got ready without waking anyone else. He made his way to the grounds and to the lake, remembering how he was late the last time. The lake looked cold. Even though he knew from experience that it wasn’t, he still was happy he didn’t need to go in there.

“You’re up early,” Voldemort’s voice spoke from behind, causing Harry to jump, and turn, his wand out and pointing. Voldemort lifted his eyebrows and Harry put his wand back in his pocket.

“You startled me,” Harry said.

“You’ve good reflexes.” Voldemort said. “I see that I’ll need to announce my presence in some less surprising way.”

He joined Harry, standing next to him, staring out into the lake. “Thinking of the last time?”

“We have so little time left.” Harry said, giving voice to the worry in his mind. “We haven’t even started any research yet.”

“I have.” Voldemort said. “But I don’t deny it will go faster with two instead of one. You’ve proved yourself – adequate.”

“In Runes?” Harry asked, keeping his tone mild. “Or in general.”

“Runes of course.” Voldemort murmured.

“And in general?”

Why was he pushing? What did Voldemort’s opinion of him matter so much?

“Perhaps we should go inside.” Voldemort said. “The task won’t start for a while yet.”

Harry agreed. This was hardly the best place for a private conversation anyway. Instead of going back to Gryffindor tower, he followed Voldemort into his room.

“Can I ask you something?” Harry asked.

“Didn’t realise you needed my permission.” Voldemort said, looking amused.

“This is different.” Harry said, avoiding Voldemort’s eyes.

“Ask, Potter.” Voldemort sighed. “Obviously it’s bothering you.”

“Did I kill you in our last life?” Harry asked finally, looking at Voldemort, because it didn’t seem fair to avoid the other wizard’s eyes when asking something like that.

Voldemort went still, his eyes riveted on Harry’s. He strode forward the next, pulling Harry close.

“See for yourself.” he said, and Harry was plunged into the other wizard’s memories. He saw them circling each other, heard the words they both spoke, the colliding spells, and Voldemort crumpling to the earth, dead.

Harry found his eyes were wet when he finally blinked them, breaking eye contact and the spell. Voldemort’s hands were cupping his face, his fingers brushing away his tears.

“I’m touched,” There was mockery in Voldemort’s voice, but also something sharp, something that slid between the vulnerable places of Harry’s heart and sliced into them. “But technically you didn’t kill me, so there’s no need for these tears.”

“You think that’s what bothers me?” Harry whispered as his eyes flew open.

Voldemort’s expression changed for one moment, surprise reflecting in his eyes before they turned expressionless once more.

“As I said, I’m touched.” he said, dropping his hands and stepping away, but there was no mockery in them now. “You should get going. Don’t want to be late, do you? We can start our research this evening, if you wish.”

Harry nodded numbly, as he turned away, blinking away the tears and straightening his back. They would find a way to change things. They had to.


	36. Thirty Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates it. Happy holidays to those who don't. Wherever you are, stay safe and take care of yourself. Your love for this fic and support has meant more than I can say.

“Harry!” Ron looked relieved to see him as Harry returned to Gryffindor tower instead of to the lake. “You were gone, and I was worried. Hermione’s missing as well.”

Harry felt his heart sink. He knew where Hermione was, but he could not tell Ron. The last time, Ron had also been taken, so Harry didn’t have to deal with his panic.

Who would they have tied to that stone underneath the lake this year if Harry had been a champion? Sirius? Ron? Voldemort?

He pushed the thought away.

“Maybe she went down early.” he said. “Shall we go to breakfast?”

Ron nodded, still looking worried. “She could have waited for us.” he said.

They had breakfast, Harry trying to allay Ron’s nerves by saying perhaps Hermione had gone to watch the second task. Fortunately, professor McGonagall approached them to tell them Hermione would be part of the task and they shouldn’t worry.

“Part of the task?” Ron asked. “What does that mean?”

“Guess we’ll know when we get there.” Harry said. He had missed all this the last time, so he had no idea what to expect.

They made their way to the lake, and half the castle was already there. The three champions were standing at the lake’s edge. Harry checked the time. They had another half an hour. They found seats which had a good view of the lake.

Soon, the announcement was made about what the second task was, complete with the song that Harry still remembered. He was so glad he was not a part of it this time around. Ron looked horrified as he turned to Harry.

“Do they mean she’s under the lake?”

“She’ll be fine, Ron,” Harry said. “Dumbledore won’t let anything happen to anyone.”

It wasn’t something Harry believed any more, but Ron did, and it seemed to calm him down a bit.

“Why her though?” he muttered, glaring at Krum.

“Hey, she’s not responsible for how he may feel about her.” Harry said gently.

Better nip that jealousy in the bud. Ron could get quite unreasonable when jealous, as he already knew.

Soon, it was time for the champions to enter the water and each of them dived in without any hesitation. In spite of the tense atmosphere, it was boring to have to watch the lake’s surface. Harry zoned out, thinking both of what he had seen earlier as well as about Sirius and Snape. Though Snape’s behaviour was as acerbic as ever, he was no longer singling out Harry for anything in class, much to the disappointment of the Slytherins. Harry wasn’t certain what it meant. All Snape’s devotion to his mom wasn’t enough to make him back off Harry, but sex with Sirius was? He couldn’t understand it at all.

A loud roar from the crowd recalled him to the present. Fleur was being escorted from the lake to the tent. Of course, she was attacked by Grindylows and didn’t complete the task. Who was going to get Gabrielle now? Would the merpeople bring her ashore once the other champions had finished their tasks? That seemed likely.

“That is Fleur,” Ron said. “What if Krum comes back without Hermione?”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine, Ron.”

“People have died in this tournament, Harry.” Ron said, his ears turning red.

“Champions,” Harry said patiently. “They said it would be safe this time.”

“She better be safe.” Ron muttered.

“She’s my friend too.” Harry said softly. “It’s not like I’m not worried about her.”

“I know.” Ron sighed, slumping against him. “It’s just that I… I don’t know Harry, I’m just so scared.”

Harry squeezed Ron’s arm. “I know. I get it.”

After all, it was how he felt about everyone these days. All the people he would be failing to save if he didn’t succeed in whatever task he had been set. He only wished he knew what it was that he was supposed to do. His parents had said he was on the right track, but right track with what? Learning Runes? Just spending time with Voldemort? What did they mean? The whole thing was such a mess that he felt like tearing his hair out in frustration.

There was a roar as the first champion returned. Cedric with Cho. Harry could feel relief fill him. He had been so afraid that something might go wrong in spite of all his reassurances to Ron. After all, hadn’t his parents said that everyone who died in his previous life would die this time too if he couldn’t change the timeline? At least Cedric was okay for now.

Ron was gripping Harry’s arm tightly enough to bruise it by the time Krum had returned with Hermione. Both Harry and Ron jumped from their seats and were running across before Krum had reached the shore, and Hermione disengaged herself from Krum to hug them both.

“I was so scared.” Ron said. “Merlin, don’t do this to me again.”

“I’m fine.” Hermione said, laughing. “It was perfectly safe, Ron.”

Madam Pomfrey was the one who pulled Hermione away from them and led her into the tent, huffing and tutting. Harry and Ron returned to the crowd, Ron now smiling. Harry listened with half a year as they announced the scores. His attention was focussed only on one line from the announcement.

“The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty fourth of June.”

The day Voldemort returned in his last life. The deadline they had for changing things. The twenty fourth of June. Barely four months away.

Despair washed over him till he lifted his face and saw Voldemort standing at the very back of the crowd, his eyes on Harry. Harry had no doubt he was having similar thoughts. He inclined his head to Harry before turning around and leaving. Harry drew a deep breath. They might not have much time, but he was damned if he didn’t try his best to change things.


	37. Thirty Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! I'm posting this in advance. :Last chapter of 2020!

Harry put down the book with a huff. Voldemort looked at him, an amused smile curving his lips, eyes snapping with laughter. Merlin, when had he learned to read Voldemort so well?

“So frustrated?” Voldemort asked, his voice soft.

Harry scowled. “I’m trying to find a way to get rid of this thing inside me without having to kill either of us for it.” he said. “The least you can do is try not to laugh at me.”

“Oh, but I like laughing.” Voldemort murmured. “There has been so few opportunities to actually laugh in my life.”

Harry tried and failed to stop the twitching of his lips. “Must you be ridiculous about this?”

“You look like you need it.”

Harry stilled. Voldemort kept doing this, saying things that threw him for a loop, showing a care and consideration that he wouldn’t have expected.

“There has to be something.” he said, thunking his head on the table.

“I can understand why you wish to get rid of it,” Voldemort said. “But why this way? Why search for a ritual?”

“What part of not wanting to kill either of us don’t you understand?” Harry lifted his head and glared at him.

Voldemort’s brows were furrowed in confusion. Harry’s heart started thumping hard. Did Voldemort honestly not know?

“You’ve been through my memories.” he said.

“I didn’t see everything, you know. Only the highlights, so to speak.”

Harry huffed.

“All right,” he said. “Hermione said the only way to put a soul back together was through remorse and that it was excruciatingly painful, leading even to death. So, I would rather not go that route.”

Voldemort looked amused. “It is cute how you think I’m even capable of that.”

Harry felt his cheeks burn. “Yea, well, I like to think there’s a chance for you.”

“You asked me to try for some remorse.” Voldemort said abruptly. “Just before my death.”

“That didn’t happen.” Harry said, discomfited somehow. That memory was something that had stayed with him, of every memory Voldemort had shown him, fuelling his determination to change the future.

Merlin, when had saving Voldemort become as important as saving everyone else?

“It would have.” Voldemort said slowly. “Are you sure you don’t want it to go down that way again?”

Harry met Voldemort’s eyes squarely. At least he didn’t have to fear the man would invade his mind again.

“If we go down that way, I lose almost everyone I love.” Sirius, Remus, Dobby, Fred. Voldemort. “That’s not an acceptable price for me to pay.”

Voldemort made no response, but his eyes were riveted on Harry’s with an intensity that made his heart race.

“Can you stop looking at me like that?” Harry muttered, turning his face away. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

Voldemort chuckled as he rose and moved around the desk, to sit down on it, leaning forward into Harry’s space, his hand cupping Harry’s cheek and turning him to face him. There was almost no force exerted in the grip, but Harry made no move to free himself.

“I’m only looking.” Voldemort murmured. “You’re rather easy on the eyes.”

“Don’t.” Harry said, but his heart was racing and there was a lump in his throat. “I don’t want you to.”

“Really?” Voldemort’s voice was quiet, but laced with amusement. “I’ve been inside your mind, privy to the most private of your thoughts, you are literally my soul, your blood thrums in my veins, and this is where you draw the line?”

Harry swallowed. “I have to draw it somewhere.” he said, his voice cracking. “And I’m not your soul.”

“You’re much more than just that, I admit.” Voldemort said, his tone no longer amused. “But you’re also that, Harry. Even you can’t deny that.”

Harry licked his lips almost unconsciously and Voldemort’s breath hitched as his eyes dropped to Harry’s lips. There was a moment in which it seemed to Harry as if the world had gone still, and then the moment was broken and Voldemort had released him and had swept back to sitting behind his desk. His cheeks were flushed, but his voice was steady as he said.

“Very well. I shall respect your wishes. Perhaps we should return to the task at hand.”

Harry wasn’t sure if what he felt was relief or disappointment.

“You know I’m not actually fourteen, right?” he said, and cringed. What the fuck was he doing?

“I’m aware,” Voldemort said, his eyes glittering. “It doesn’t matter if you’re fourteen or twenty, Potter.” _So back to Potter, are we?_ “Have you any idea how old _I_ am?”

“Not a hundred.” Harry said, a smile quirking his lips.

Voldemort looked amused. “Is that your line for dating, Potter? Anyone below hundred? Besides, I thought you were interested in Ginny Weasley.”

Harry sighed. “That was another life.” he said.

Voldemort’s expression turned sombre, but his voice was gentle as he said, “You’re just confused. We both are. My soul in you, your blood in me, the connection we share… magic like that can cause… confusion.”

“Confusion.” Harry said slowly. “Is that the best you can come up with?”

He was frustrated. Perhaps Voldemort was right. Perhaps he was a bit confused, but that was only about the mixed bag of feelings he had, perhaps confusion about how he could actually feel this way for the other wizard, not about the feelings themselves.

“Harry,” Voldemort said quietly. “I’m still most of your nightmares.”

Harry’s mouth was dry and his heart was pounding. “That was another life.”

“It still happened to you.” Voldemort said. “But enough of this. Let’s get back to what we need to do.”

Right. Better not to be distracted right now. They had so little time left.

“We’re not done discussing this,” Harry said.

Voldemort’s eyes met his. “There’s nothing more to discuss.”

There was finality in his tone, and Harry frowned as he turned his attention back to his books. He wasn’t ready to drop it, but realised that to push it right now wouldn’t be the wisest course of action.

Merlin! Since when had he become so calculated?


	38. Thirty Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost at the end, and I have not decided yet how to end this!!

The days passed as usual, though Harry noticed that Voldemort’s behaviour had changed these days. It was nothing overt, but there was no more playful banter and the man never called him by his name any more. Yet, Harry could feel his eyes boring into him while he worked. In view of the deadline that loomed before them, Harry didn’t dwell too much on what was happening with him and Voldemort. If they succeeded, they would have plenty of time for it in the future. If they succeeded, Harry was determined to have the discussion again. Voldemort hadn’t said he wasn’t interested, just that Harry might be confused.

Did Voldemort share his feelings and put it down to confusion on account of their bond?

Days blended into weeks, and they could not find a way. Harry also had exams to prepare for, and his time with Voldemort was severely curtailed due to the increased coursework. Though he was still exempted from homework, he could no longer neglect his studies. He got into the habit of taking his school books to Voldemort and staying in the man’s room.

“You’ve to stop, Potter,” Voldemort said one day. “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

“It’s Easter next week.” Harry said, looking at Voldemort. “We don’t have time.”

“Things won’t fall apart if you took a night off of driving yourself to death.” Voldemort said drily. “Besides, don’t get so caught up in what is happening that you lose sight of why you’re doing this.”

Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You want to save your godfather and your friends. But you hardly spend any time with them.”

“I can spend time with them after.” Harry said.

“What if there isn’t an after?” Voldemort asked. “Do you really want to spend this time with me when you might never get a chance to see some of them ever again?”

Harry said nothing, just staring at Voldemort as it struck him that the other wizard was right. He should be spending time with Sirius and Remus. He should be talking to Fred more, and Colin and Dobby. Had he even talked to the elf once after the Little Hangleton adventure? Guilt twisted his gut. Even in his previous life, he had never gone to Dobby unless he needed something. It was always Dobby who had come to save Harry, to help him, to save him… would he never learn to value that devotion? Was he going to wait till Dobby died again? He didn’t want to honour the elf or anyone else. He wanted to make sure they lived, but if he failed, he should at least make sure that he wasn’t a shitty friend to them all.

“Potter?” Voldemort’s voice was mildly concerned. “Are you all right?”

“You know I’m not.” Harry said, raising his eyes to the other man’s face. “I can’t lose them all, Voldemort.”

“We’ve been through almost every book we can find.” Voldemort said. “At this point, we have to concede defeat. No such ritual exists. What we can do now is to perhaps modify the creation ritual in order to reverse the effects.”

Harry stared. “Is that possible?”

Voldemort shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’m lord Voldemort after all. I’ll make it possible.” He looked away from Harry. “But I think you should be prepared to accept that even if we do succeed in this, we may yet fail in changing the timeline. We’re both going down a path with nothing but blind faith, but it could well be the wrong path. Since we’ve no instructions except a vague one to change things, we don’t have a choice to do anything else, unfortunately. Even so, I think nothing is accomplished by you practically killing yourself doing this. Take a break, Potter. Spend time with your loved ones.”

“The modification to the ritual-” Harry began, but Voldemort shook his head.

“It’s very dark magic. Having you here could actually cause more harm than good. You may not know it, but your soul is a bit too pure, and might interfere adversely with the ritual.”

Harry stared at him. “Are you trying to get rid of me?” he asked. Being blunt seemed to be the only way with Voldemort.

“That too.” Voldemort said after a moment. “But I did mean everything I said. I think our enforced proximity and the bond we share is causing these emotions, and-”

“Are you saying you feel them too?” Harry interrupted.

“They’re not real.” Voldemort huffed. “I’m not capable of this. Surely you know it.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “You mean because of the love potion.”

“Exactly.” Voldemort said. “So, I think perhaps you should stay away so we can both return to normal and I can get on with what I’ve to do.”

“You really cannot do it with me here?” Harry asked.

“I wasn’t lying about that.” Voldemort said.

Harry nodded. “All right. How will I know if it works?”

Voldemort’s eyes lingered on Harry’s scar. “If it works, you’ll know. It might hurt a bit.”

“How much is a bit?” Harry asked, his mouth dry.

Voldemort huffed. “There’s no precedent, Potter, so I cannot really say. We’re talking of a non existent ritual here, but… I should think it would hurt slightly more than a crucio.”

Harry nodded. He had been tortured before. He could take it. He frowned as he turned to Voldemort again.

“You said this was a reversal of the creation ritual.”

Voldemort nodded. “Does that mean that it hurts to create one too?”

“Why do you think no wizard has ever made more than one?” Voldemort asked drily. “Surely you didn’t think it was an aversion to murder? Someone who’s ready to kill once for immortality would have no issues killing again.” He sounded sneering now. “No, Potter. It isn’t squeamishness. It’s because it’s too painful to split a soul.”

Harry was aware of blood draining from his face. Was this why Hermione was so shocked that Voldemort had made seven?

“No.” Harry said after a moment. “If the reversal works the same way, it could kill you.”

“I’m not that fragile.” Voldemort said, still sneering.

“You don’t know that!” Harry said.

“Fine. I won’t do it, but what else are we supposed to do, Potter? I don’t think there’s a painless way of doing this. Putting a soul back together was never going to be that easy.” His gaze was sharp now. “You were ready for the pain when it was you, and it is not acceptable when it is me? Is that really fair?”

Harry just stared mutely, not able to say anything.

“It’s pain I’ve been through before,” Voldemort said. “I’ll be all right. Trust me.”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Harry asked finally.

“Go back to your friends and loved ones, Potter.” Voldemort said.


	39. Thirty Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we are almost at the end, and I really have no idea what happens next!!

With his days free of Voldemort, Harry found he had too much time in his hands. He spent it with his friends, with Fred, Colin, Dobby even Cedric. He also talked to Sirius every day, and to Remus whenever he could manage. From Sirius he learned that Tonks was interested in Remus, but Remus was being stupid again.

“I’m trying to talk some sense into him.” Sirius said. “But he can be stubborn when he wants to be.”

“Are you coming to Hogwarts anytime soon?” Harry asked.

“I could visit during the Easter break.” Sirius said. “Andromeda invited us to spend it with her, but Moony’s being difficult.”

“The full moon is during the break, isn’t it?” Harry asked.

“The day before Easter.” Sirius confirmed. “So I’ll be returning by then and we’ll go to Andromeda’s after the full moon. I don’t see why Moony’s being so adamant. It’s not like Andromeda and her family don’t know he’s a werewolf. With the wolfsbane, there’s really nothing to worry about.”

Harry didn’t want to guess at Lupin’s reasons. “I’m sure he has his reasons,” he said.

“I’m not going to push him.” Sirius sighed. “I just wish he would tell me.”

Easter holidays couldn’t come quickly enough for Harry. Having Sirius around was more comforting than he would have believed. Voldemort and he never even saw each other. With the increased course work, even professor McGonagall didn’t ask him why he wasn’t seeing the mind healer.

The holidays ended sooner than Harry liked, but he had no time to worry about anything more than all the studying he had to do. In his previous life, he didn’t have to worry this much because he was exempted from the exams. But this time he would need to write them. After all, the day of the final task was also the day the exams would be getting over. He tried not to think of Voldemort as May approached, and the weather took a turn for the better. He had exams to worry about and if Voldemort had managed to modify the ritual, he would have known.

May gave way to June and Harry knew he had failed. It didn’t matter any more. They had failed. The exams were starting, but Harry didn’t think he could face them.

The dream came the day before the exams. His parents were there, telling him how proud they were.

“But I failed.” he said.

“You tried your best,” his father said. “You bound him to an oath and prevented deaths. You did more than you know, Harry.”

“But I still failed.” he said. “What happens if the timeline resets?”

“You’ll both be back where you were when this all started,” his mother answered. “In the forest. But Harry, remember this. Whatever happens, you have done more than anyone could have expected from you.”

“You said they’ll all die if I failed.” Harry said, despair filling him.

“We’re sorry.” his father said. “All that will still happen since you’re going to be thrown into your old life. But always remember that this is not a failure. We’re so proud of you.”

Harry wept into his pillow when he woke, but he was also determined to be brave. He had walked to his death after all, and now he knew that he wouldn’t die. That was something, wasn’t it? Even if he went back, he was going to win in the end.

That was the thought that nearly destroyed him. If he went back, Voldemort was also going to die.

_I won’t remember any of this, so it wouldn’t matter._

That was perhaps the worst thought of it all. He even resented his parents for giving him hope that this could be done, that he could save everyone, that he could love his archenemy and have a happy ending.

The night after the last exam, Harry watched with the rest of Hogwarts as Cedric won the Triwizard Cup. He clapped till his palms were raw though his insides were twisting and his heart was hurting so badly he couldn’t breathe. He celebrated with the rest of the school. Even the teachers didn’t interfere that night, allowing the festivities to go on past curfew. Harry broke away from the rest when the teachers finally put their feet down an hour before midnight, and made his way to Voldemort’s office.

Voldemort didn’t seem surprised to see him.

“I was expecting you.” he said.

Harry stood, looking around. “It didn’t help,” he said finally. “Staying away from you.”

“I know.” Voldemort said.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

“What happens tomorrow?” Voldemort asked.

“We… we both go back to the forest, where we should have been.”

Voldemort transfigured one of the chairs into a bed. “You should go to bed.”

Harry shook his head. “I just want to stay with you.”

“I thought you would want to spend tonight with your loved ones.”

“I am,” Harry said. “It may not be real to you, but it is to me. I’ve… I’ve spent time with everyone else, and tonight… I want to be here.”

Voldemort sat on the bed and Harry sat down next to him.

“So, do we just sit here and wait for the morning?” Voldemort asked.

“Midnight perhaps.” Harry said.

Voldemort smiled. “This isn’t a fairytale, Harry, for spells to break at midnight.”

Harry chuckled. “A muggle reference? That is the last thing I expected you to say.”

“Doesn’t seem important any more.” Voldemort’s voice was quiet. “I notice you’ve stopped calling me Tom these days.”

“I’m trying,” Harry sighed. “I guess I might slip up, but I’m trying.”

“Why?” Voldemort asked.

Harry smiled. “It’s actually a muggle thing.”

How was he to explain the concept of deadnames to a dark wizard?

“Better not tell me then.” Voldemort had a glimmer of smile on his lips. “What would you have done if we’d succeeded?”

Harry shrugged. “Tried to make you see it was real.” he said. “Our feelings.”

“My mind isn’t easily changed.” Voldemort said slowly. “But if it had come to that, I would have told you to ask me when you’re seventeen.”

Harry leaned against him and Voldemort put an arm around him.

“What if it happens at midnight?” he asked.

“Hardly matters at this point.” Voldemort replied.

Fireworks burst outside the window, and Harry chuckled. “Fred and George.” he said. “Ron’s brothers, you know.”

“I know.” Voldemort said.

Harry felt it, a wrenching feeling in his gut and he could see from Voldemort’s widened eyes that he could feel it too. Magic slammed into him, colours and lights and waves and waves of power, buffeting him from every side. His vision blurred and he could not feel Voldemort at his side any more as he lost consciousness.


	40. Thirty Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here it is, the final chapter. Thank you all for the love and kindness you have showered on this fic.

Harry stirred and opened his eyes, to see that he was in a bed, and next to him was- his breath caught.

“Voldemort,” he whispered.

Voldemort turned his head and gave him a lazy smile. “Looks like we didn’t fail after all.”

Harry slumped against him. “You mean you will actually consider us when I’m seventeen?”

Voldemort laughed as he held him close. “Is that the only thing you can think of? Not your godfather or the people you saved, but us?”

“You’re as important as they are.” Harry said. “And you’re here right now.”

“All right.” Voldemort said. “I will consider it if I can get that horcrux out of you and you haven’t changed your mind.”

“Deal.” Harry said. “What are you going to do now?”

“Well, I can reveal myself, but seeing as you’ve made me harmless, that may not be a wise decision. I guess I will have to see to that DADA position after all. For the moment, anyway.”

“After the moment?”

Voldemort chuckled. “I think I’ll settle for minister of magic.”

Harry felt a twinge of unease. “You can’t hurt anyone.”

“You know I can’t. The unbreakable prevents that.” Voldemort looked amused now. “How do you say you love me when you have so little faith in me?”

“I don’t have to be blind to who you are to love you.” Harry said.

“Who I am.” Voldemort murmured. “I’m impressed you can be sensible about this.”

“It’s not like I can forget it.” Harry said.

“And it doesn’t bother you? It doesn’t matter?” Voldemort looked curious now.

“Not after last night.” Harry said. “When I thought we’d failed… what hurt the most was knowing that you were also going to die and that I wouldn’t even remember what I felt for you.”

Whatever Voldemort might have been, he was not going to hurt anyone again, and really, wasn’t that more important?

“It scared me too.” Voldemort said softly. “The thought of losing you, of hurting you, of not remembering any of this.”

Harry said nothing, just snuggling closer. Voldemort might not have changed completely, but he wasn’t unchanged either. For now, the vow would ensure that he wouldn’t hurt anyone. Later, if his soul could be restored, perhaps he could start to change. After all, if he could learn to love Harry, he was capable of change.

“I love you.” he said, finally articulating the words.

“You know I can’t say it back,” Voldemort said quietly. “Not right now, anyway.”

“That’s okay.” Harry said. “I can wait.”

After all, he had time now. They both did. That was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you. I hope this wasn't too disappointing. I wrote three different endings for this, lol, and in the end decided to go with this. If anyone wants the other two, I shall be glad to post as a separate work, or as continuation, whichever you prefer. Thank you all. The level of love I received for this is truly humbling.


	41. Note

Not a chapter as such, just an intimation that I have posted one of the alternate endings. Hope you all enjoy it!

It can be found [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29062437)


End file.
